My Demons Lay in Wait
by EchoRose480
Summary: When Merlin becomes the victim of an addictive, deadly drug, it's up to Arthur, him, and the Knights to stop the drug-dealer, whilst also dealing with Merlin's horrible withdrawal symptoms. Will they be able to keep their friend alive? No-Slash. Much Merlin!WHUMP. Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, unfortunately. Reviews are so greatly appreciated you can hardly imagine.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Excited for this one! Hope you guys will join me for the ride. Much, much Merlin whumpage later. :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, unfortunately.

Merlin glanced at the pretty little leaves. They were small (around the size of the nail on a baby's pinky finger) and dried, the deep rosy hue of late autumn. He brought them closer and sniffed hesitantly. They didn't smell like much. Maybe, faintly like poppy seeds. Though, it was hard to tell in the compact shop filled with pungent herbs. He squished the little bit he had between his thumb and forefinger, and watched as it crumbled to bits. He then looked back up at the herbalist. The woman couldn't have been more than thirty-eight, but silvery strands already decorated her nondescript hair. She had pretty blue eyes surrounded by laugh lines, but there were stress marks on her forehead and around her mouth that told the story of her difficult life.

She was wispily thin, and her clothes were tattered at the cuffs and collar. A modest necklace was her only adornment, homemade with a leather string, cheap stone, and Merlin guessed there was no clasp, either. The woman smiled hopefully at him. She had just started a new business in town, and Merlin had only come here to get Gaius' herbs because he wanted to help her get started. Her family (Merlin had now seen two children, and a baby boy) lived in the back of the shack-like store. They were struggling, it was obvious. The woman, her name was Selina he believed, had seen him wince at a twinge from his perpetual migraine, which Merlin had only half-jokingly nicknamed "Arthur", and had eagerly offered up the leafy remedy,

"Aah! Well, this should do the trick," She'd sprinkled a few into his palm, "Burn it, breathe in its fumes, you'll be feeling right chipper, you will!" Merlin gave the woman a sad smile, and saw her face drop. It was almost unnoticeable, but being a peasant who'd lived on scant resources himself growing up, he saw. He didn't have that much money, after all. And Gaius had been specific about what herbs to get. Merlin wanted to help the woman and her family. But hadn't Gaius just lectured him the other day on not being flippant with his money after he'd bought a bit of garlic to flavor Gaius', for lack of a better word, stew? Merlin opened his mouth to say no, to tell the woman that he wanted to, but he couldn't, but the words that came out of his mouth were different,

"Sure, I could use fewer headaches," The bright smile that lit up her face would make Merlin's day. He would pocket the little leaves with a full intention of using them, than would have to save Arthur from some unfriendly assassins later that night, and he would forget them.

...

"Merlin!" the young warlock turned at the sound of his name, and knew before seeing that Gwaine was barreling towards him at concerning speeds. Bracing himself for the inevitable collision, Merlin just had time to set down the basket of Arthur's dirty laundry before he was swept into an impressive sleeper hold, being noogied by a knight.

"Merlin!" Gwaine repeated, still digging his knuckles into Merlin's skull, "You wondrous, whining, warlock, you. How aaare you, ducky?" he said affectionately. Apparently considering his head to be properly tenderized, Merlin was let go and swept up in an enthusiastic embrace.

"Are you drunk…again?" Merlin asked. Gwaine laughed and pulled away from him,

"Haha! I wish, but, no. I'm as sober as Princess was when you stuffed raw eggs in his pillow case," Merlin suppressed a grin,

"That was you!" he denied vehemently. Gwaine waggled a finger,

"Aaaah! But, you covered up for me, remember? I'm eternally indebted to you. And, admit it," he grinned evilly, "it was worth it," Merlin couldn't hide his smile this time, images of their king's shouting face as egg yolk dripped from his blonde hair onto his nose assaulting him. He covered up a strangled laugh with a cough,

"What do you want, Gwaine?" he asked, though not harshly. The dashing night beamed,

"Tonight's our monthly Romp of Manliness. I need you to tell Arthur for me," Merlin nodded,

"All right, but I don't think I'll come this time," he said. Gwaine stuck out his bottom lip,

"_Why_?" he whined. Merlin cocked an eyebrow in a rather impressive imitation of Gaius,

"Because last time you coerced me into getting drunk, and the next day all I heard from Arthur was, 'Merlin I had no idea you had so many pent up wiggles,' and '_Mer_lin I wouldn't have brought ail if I'd known you were going to sing, and 'Merlin, how I wish I could do something to help you with your disturbing fascination of belly buttons'". Merlin grimaced at the memory. Gwaine had the decency to try and look guilty,

"I won't force you this time, I _promise_," he vowed. Merlin was having trouble not melting as Gwaine's puppy dog brown eyes began to glisten suspiciously.

"I don't know if Arthur will let me after what happened last time," Merlin winced. Vague fuzzy images of want to make Gwaine's hair sparkle, a small fire, and a near explosion ran through his head. Gwaine did look honestly apologetic this time,

"Well, if he doesn't let you, I'll have words with him. You're an important part of our brotherhood!" his smile returned. Merlin laughed,

"All right, but he won't let me do anything if I don't get these clothes put away in time," with that, he heaved the heavy basket up, and began making his way to Arthur's chambers. Hopefully, the king was in a good mood.

...

Arthur sat at the desk in his chambers, papers, scrolls, and various important documents strewn before him in a disorganized manner. That was the one place in Arthur's chambers that Merlin was not allowed to touch. The king was very, very particular about that rule. His arms were crossed over his muscled chest, and blonde strands of his hair hung over his mischievously sparkling blue eyes,

"So, you want to come tonight," he said, his voice dripping with amusement and simple evilness. Merlin tilted his head in a mock-considering manner as he folded another of Arthur's tunics into his drawer,

"Well…it's not so much that I want to go, but that Gwaine thinks it wouldn't be the same without me," he considered, then added not desperately at all, "I promise I won't lose control of my magic…again…,". Arthur laughed,

"That's for certain," he said, "I still can't believe you…" Merlin cut that thought off at the neck before it could reach its full potential,

"I thought we agreed never to speak of that again," he said quickly. Arthur's eyes glinted deviously,

"I never agreed to anything, you simply stated that none of us were to mention…"

"Exactly!" Merlin said loudly, "So let's move on shall we? Are you going to tell me whether or not I can come, or do you want to continue trading embarrassing stories? Because, I could bring up that time I caught you and Gwen-"

"That won't be necessary!" Arthur said quickly, his voice tinged with fear, and his cheeks turning red. He stood up from behind his desk and strolled over to his manservant,

"Course you can come!" he said cheerily, and clapped Merlin on the shoulder, "We need our _sister_ of the brotherhood to make the rest of us feel stronger," Merlin didn't miss a beat, and gave Arthur a curious look,

"Arthur, I realized that your grip on masculinity was tenuous, but I never thought you'd admit it out loud," he said sympathetically. Arthur just grinned and ruffled Merlin's hair before striding out,

"Idiot!" he called back.

"Prat!"

...

"_Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooohhhhhhh_…!" Gwaine stretched out the beginning note as long as was humanly possible, "_I wandered into a tavern that day! My clothes and hair in disarray, but none could ever shy away! For my love is Bonnie Green! Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooh hhh!_" the knights all groaned as Gwaine started another verse. The dashing knight pranced drunkenly around the armory, sloshing ale from the mug in his hand everywhere, and knocking over a pile of armor from one of the tables, sending the clanging metal crashing to the ground.

Elyan and Percival were having a staring contest by the sword rack, in which Merlin was convinced Elyan had used an enchantment to win. It was obvious that no one could keep his eyes that open, for that long without outside intervention. Lancelot twitched and sneered, struggling to keep from blinking. Really, it was a valiant effort, but Merlin could see it was a lost cause. Elyan smirked and tut-tutted at his foe, his eyes wide open and bright,

"Just give in Lancelot, you're waning," Lancelot grimaced, and his left bottom eyelid wiggled dangerously. Elyon grinned maliciously, "I will break you." Merlin laughed and cringed when Gwaine started another verse,

"_My Bonnie Green Love, though her eyes were quite blue, her skin was akin to a vegetable's hue! Ooooooooooooohhhhh!_"

Merlin chuckled, and swept his gaze across the room once more, alert for any signs of danger. Really, there was no need. After all, this was probably the safest space in Camelot, considering how savagely Arthur protected his one night vacations. But still, Merlin's gaze flickered over every shadow, crawl space, or possible hiding spot. It was habit now, a reflex. Merlin still tensed at the sound of twigs snapping, he found himself gravitating to stand in front of Arthur when he saw someone he didn't recognize, or who seemed suspicious. Years of protecting a kingdom and king from a wide variety of extremely armed and dangerous enemies on a weekly basis can tend to make a person…a bit cautious. But despite the young warlock's…alertness, he found his gaze flickering over to the mugs on the small table Arthur and Leon were playing cards on.

He was still barely twenty after all, and the brown, frothy ale did look rather appealing. Licking his too dry lips, Merlin tried to focus on Percival as the large man walked back and forth, practicing sword strokes with a calm expression, with the vain hope that Arthur would notice his fidgetiness and have mercy. Just a sip to sooth his mangled nerves would be lovely. The last few months had been, well, they had been a challenge. With Arthur king, Merlin now not only had to worry about keeping him safe from old enemies, he now had to keep an eye on the many kings in distant lands who would just love to take advantage of a young impressionable king, or perhaps raze Camelot to the ground.

He was still Arthur's servant though, residential punching bag in the knights' training, and still Gaius' apprentice, so those chores were added to his list of things to do. On top of his duties protecting Arthur and regarding his destiny, Merlin was now an unofficial advisor to Arthur on all things Camelot, and was called upon more often than not to give his opinions during council meetings. While this steady climb in gaining influence in Arthur's kinghood pleased Merlin, it also meant that the stakes were higher in the journey towards uniting Albion.

After Arthur discovered Merlin's secret, and the repercussions that ensued from that not so little drama were dealt with, he had decided to get started on the whole uniting Albion "once-and-future-king-great-destiny" thing write away. This involved a lot more politics, prodding, pleasing, and parting ways than either Merlin or Arthur had been anticipating. So, needless to say, every night after studying his magic book for a few hours, just before drifting off to sleep before dawn, Merlin was exhausted proud, and ready. And when he woke up in the morning to bring the king his breakfast, he was proud, ready, and somehow more even exhausted. So, it was that Merlin had to stifle a pained whimper when Arthur said without even looking back,

"No, Merlin. Remember the only reason you're here is because you promised not to drink," Merlin made a pouting face, which Arthur pointedly ignored. Percival chuckled deeply though, and set the training sword back on its rack as he glanced with amusement at the young warlock,

"Don't worry, Merlin. Alcohol his highly overrated," he said. Elyan guffawed from the other side of the room, not breaking his gaze away from Lancelot's pained face,

"Especially if you're an all powerful sorcerer…"

"Warlock…" Merlin corrected,

"Whatever," Elyan snapped his fingers, making Lancelot blink, and raised his arms with a yell of triumph as the knight buried his face in his mug with an irritated scowl. Elyan turned to Merlin and grinned,

"We don't want a repeat of last time after all," Arthur stifled his laughter with a loud cough. Merlin glared at him, though his heart wasn't in it,

"I just wanted a sip, my nerves are taught as a bow string…" he complained. Arthur snorted, but jumped when Gwaine, who had been ball room dancing with an invisible partner and singing under his breath, jumped around with his arms splayed outward as if ready to embrace whatever fantastic idea he'd conjured in his drunken stupor,

"I knooow hows our Merlin can feels, *hic* better!" he chirped gleefully. Reaching inside of his sloppily worn chain mail, he pulled out what appeared to be a long stemmed pipe, with the handle depicted as a circle of scantily clad, wooden, women interlocked together in a twisted myriad of shapely arms and legs. Merlin mused for a moment on where on earth Gwaine found these things. Just the other day, he'd proudly displayed to Merlin a strange perfume that he'd then promptly sprayed in Merlin's face. The rest of the day the young warlock was dealing with continuous slavering, hungry glances from the opposite sex that, frankly, scared the hell out of him. He turned to Merlin with glazed over eyes,

"I gots this from…my special sourshe," he tried to wink, but it ended up looking more like a spastic twitch with both his eyes. Merlin grinned,

"Let's try it,"

The tension seemed to seep out of Lancelot as he breathed out, smoke curling upwards from his nostrils and forming a wispy halo above his head. He passed the pipe to Elyan. The knights had formed a circle on the floor, sprawled about in various relaxed positions. Merlin sat cross-legged, propped up on his elbows, watching bemusedly as Elyon's dark face went lax with pleasure. He opened his eyes and puffed out a ring of smoke, which he then twirled between his fingers. Arthur, who was sitting next to Merlin, then snatched the pipe from him, giving the abashed Elyon his signature I'm-The-King-So-Deal-With-It look. Arthur breathed in deeply of the pipe, then made an apprehensive look at the sight of his manservant's outstretched hand. Lancelot, who sat with one arm dangling lazily over a knee, chuckled at Arthur,

"Have a heart, my king. I'm sure that one draught won't lead to a repeat of," catching a glimpse of Merlin's venomous glare, he chose his next words carefully, "…Last time," he said safely. Arthur gave a courtly sniff and shoved the pipe at Merlin with a not-so-elegant shrug. Merlin snatched it from him, murmuring,

"Prat…"

"What was that, Merlin?"

"Nothing, sire…" Merlin smirked, and raised the pipe, but groaned when he saw that the green fuel had burned down to nothing. Sighing, he started to hand the pipe to Percival who sat next to him, but then…

"Ahh!" he cried triumphantly, and reached into his trouser's pocket. He pulled out the little glass vial, and smiled at the contents. Arthur noticed it and cocked an eyebrow in Merlin's direction,

"Was' that?" he asked, words slightly slurred from the ale. Merlin popped the cork and tipped some of the contents into the pipe, shrugging nonchalantly,

"Something the medicine woman gave me, said it'll help with Arth…uh, my headache," Arthur narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, but decided to let it go. Merlin leaned over and tugged a lighting stick from Gwaine's pocket. The long-haired knight was passed out next to him, snoring loudly with his head tipped backwards, making his neck look grotesquely large. Merlin stifled a laugh and lit the pipe. He breathed in deeply from the stem, and almost gasped from the sensation, or rather, lack thereof. Every ache, pain, minor itch or slight discomfiture immediately vanished from his body. The swirling thoughts and frustrated worries plaguing the back of his mind dissipated into thin air.

Merlin was aware of letting out a soft moan, that would have been embarrassing in any other situation, but right now he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Merlin took another deep whiff from the pipe, and was hardly aware as Arthur started talking to him in an annoyed, slightly alarmed voice. The world blurred considerably, and it was no longer that Merlin couldn't feel pain, he couldn't feel his body at all. Merlin took one deeper whiff, and it was that he completely sunk into blissful oblivion.

A/N: Whaddaya think so far? Reviews please!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey there! OK, second chapter, quite a bit longer than the first, and more drama. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. *sigh*

...

The morning was very angry at Merlin. He opened his eyes to the bright light of the sun, only to hiss in pain and bury himself under the rough covers of his cot.

"Morning, Sunshine!" a very grating, painfully familiar voice yelled out. Merlin groaned and peered out over his covers, only to make the same sound and retreat deeper into his sanctuary.

"Ahh, don't be that way, Merl!" Gwaine said, flashing his pearly whites from his place on the floor, and stumbling to his feet in what was obviously a severe hangover. Gwaine's face didn't betray much of his discomfort, however, and it was only when Gwaine leapt onto Merlin's cot and started jumping did Merlin acknowledge the sickeningly bright-eyed knight,

"Oi! Ger' off," Gwaine sprang off the bed and landed on the wood floor, "What are you doing in my room?" he demanded. Gwaine shrugged and failed at trying to look ashamed,

"I, er, helped lead you back here last night after you went all drooly, and, uh, kind of passed out on your floor. Sorry, mate," he grinned, obviously amused. Merlin threw off his covers and tried to sit up. His head was throbbing with little bursts of needling pain, and he was feeling oddly…heavy,

"What are you talking about, Gwaine?" Merlin asked, too confused about last night's events to be mad at his friend. Gwaine gave him an odd look, tilting his head to the side owlishly,

"Yeah, you went all…" Gwaine stiffened his limbs and made his face go completely blank, his bottom lip drooping slightly as it went slack. He somehow also managed to purposefully make his pupils dilate. Merlin sincerely hoped he _hadn't_ looked like that

"Princess was a bit rattled, told me to put you in bed right away," Gwaine scratched the back of his head, and scrunched his face, trying to remember. Merlin had seen Gwaine completely inebriated more times than he would care to keep track of, but Gwaine always seemed to remember with surprising clarity his moments of debauchery. Arthur was suspicious that Gwaine wasn't actually drunk, and just used it as an excuse to get away with basically anything. Merlin neither denied nor encouraged this theory, despite that it was in all likelihood, in his opinion.

...

The rest of the morning didn't go any better than its beginning. Merlin had been forced to skip breakfast in order to get to Arthur's chambers on time. The king would no doubt ban his servant from any more Romps if he was even a bit more late than usual. So it was that Merlin arrived in Arthur's chambers only to find out the king had gone on patrol earlier that morning, and had left him with a list of chores that only served to increase the headache that had most definitely _not_ been cured by the medicine women's leaves the night before. Those stupid leaves.

Despite how busy Merlin was the rest of the morning and even into the early afternoon, his mind kept flitting back to the little jar of red foliage he'd smoked the night before. He kept remembering that wonderful, floating feeling. Almost as if he'd been pulled from his body, only to hover through empty space with no dimension in his mind but pure, untouched pleasure.

He would have been ashamed to admit to anyone, especially Gaius, how achingly _wonderful_ it had been to completely forget reality for that short amount of time. How, just the prospect of the heavy burdens he'd had to bear for the past several years disappearing completely, along with any anchoring, troublesome thing such as thought, made him reach into his pocket and finger the little glass bottle hungrily. He didn't feel shifty and itchy until around the time Arthur came back. It wasn't until that night, as he lay in his bed, scratching at his arm and unable to keep his eyes on any one thing in the darkness that he broke out into a cold sweat.

Slightly alarmed in the back of his mind at how terribly _hungry_ he was for the little red devils' fumes, Merlin tried to rationalize himself into some semblance of normality. Honestly, now Gwaine had him addicted to smoking! Merlin half chuckled half wheezed into the dark. Arthur would probably make fun of him, if he caught him…

Merlin thrust his arm into his pocket and pulled out the bottle. Really, it wouldn't hurt him, would it? Why was he making such a big deal out of a little indulgence? Arthur and the knights all drank and puffed on their pipes, but Merlin never did. And he had more responsibility and stress in his life then all of them put together! What could a few hours of forgetting do, really? There were no side affects so far. His headache _had_ seemed a bit worse this morning, but it certainly had done that before, so what was the big deal?

Shoving aside the faint voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Gaius telling him it was a bad idea, Merlin sat up and reached to his bedside table. He chose to ignore the slight shaking to his hands as he fumbled through the table's drawer, and pulled out one of the many small, white candles he'd collected over the past few months for his late-night study sessions. Merlin's magic was more focused and refined than ever, but so were the dark circles under his eyes. He dug a little bit longer, and found a lighting stick. He lit the candle once it was on the night stand, illuminating the pitch black room with soft, flickering light. He only hesitated for one more brief second, then pulled the bottle out of his nightclothes' pocket, popped the cork, and dropped a few leaves into his palm.

They looked dark purple in the almost nonexistent light. Certainly not sinister in the slightest. He sniffed disdainfully at how much he was overreacting over something so small. It was already a few hours into the night, and, judging by the effects on him last night, he might want to get started now if he didn't want Gaius to find him all "drooly" in the morning. He pocketed the bottle, and sprinkled the leaves carefully over the small flame, and watched with fascination as they immediately imploded then disappeared. Merlin quickly put his head near the flame, and waved the smoke over to his nostrils. The effects were immediate.

He blew out the candle right before he felt himself sink into the wonderful, blanketing darkness.

...

Something was calling out to him. At first, Merlin just shrugged it off as his body's usual attempts at rousing him in the morning. Usually, he could ignore the natural alarm, but then he realized that this one actually had a voice. And, were those words? Uh oh.

"Merlin! _Mer_lin! MERLIN!" It was with a herculean effort that Merlin managed to lift one eyelid to gaze at his fuming king. He was uncomfortably close to Merlin's face, his blue orbs glinting with fury and what might have been concern before Merlin made the mistake of showing he was alive. Merlin tried to say "Arthur" but it came out more like "rthr" Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose so tightly Merlin mused that he would leave a mark.

"Merlin," Arthur repeated, "did you go out drinking with Gwaine last night?" he demanded. Merlin felt like he should deny this, but he just felt so unbelievably _slow_. Arthur was starting to look a bit concerned again,

"Merlin, if you're not feeling well…" A sudden burst of adrenaline derived from the fear of Gaius giving him medicine gave Merlin the strength to form a coherent sentence,

"No! No, I'm fine…Just a, uh, bit sleepy-" he finished lamely. Arthur narrowed his eyes in that way he did when he fancied himself observant. Merlin always teased him about how he'd managed to hide his magic from him for several years. Arthur, to his credit, ignored this. A few endless, awkard seconds passed, before Merlin coughed uncomfortably, and managed to pull himself up into a seated position. Wow, he felt tired. Arthur relented after seeing Merlin could move himself, and stood up from his kneeled position,

"All right. You're still a terrible liar, but I'm trusting you. If you pass out on my new carpets, you're dead," he announced in all his royal glory, before sauntering out of the room yelling in a voice that caused Merlin to wince,

"He's awake Gaius! Stupid idiot was probably up all night reading, again," Merlin didn't hear Gaius' reply, and breathed out a sigh of relief he'd been holding in. Those leaves really did a number on him. Okay, so they heightened his exhaustion a little. Nothing serious. But Arthur or Gaius probably wouldn't be so forgiving, and so it would be best if they didn't know. Right? Just so they wouldn't kick up a fuss over nothing.

It took Merlin another fifteen minutes to get dressed and wake himself up. He was still feeling far more tired than was healthy, however, and his headache was now pounding relentlessly. OK, it had been nice, but no more using those leaves for a long time, if ever again, he vowed to himself.

...

Merlin's supposed iron resolve not to think about those leaves ever again began to vanish around noon. He had been in the market place for about an hour, aimlessly walking around trying to look and be busy when he'd passed by the medicine woman's shop. The hut-like building scent pungent aromas out onto the busy street. Merlin found himself sniffing for the faint scent of poppy seeds. His legs seemed to act of their own accord, and suddenly he was inside the shop, the owner, Selina, smiling at him brightly. There was this tightness in her eyes though, an emotion Merlin couldn't quite pin down.

"How may I help you, young man?" Selina asked eagerly. Merlin tried to say he needed nothing. He _tried_ to say he'd just walked in to see how she and her family were doing, because he was curious about her trade, anything! Instead, a feral part of him that was brought forth from the memory of blissful emptiness took over his mouth, and the words were coming out of his mouth of their own accord,

"Do you have any more of that headache remedy?" he asked, his voice tinged with a slight desperation that scared even him. The woman visibly tensed, and something akin to…regret?...passed over her face for such a fleeting moment, Merlin supposed he must have imagined it.

"I'm sorry, I only have one bottle left, and some other people have been asking about it…I can't sell it to any one person," she tried for an apologetic smile, and it came out more like a grimace, "Everyone gets headaches,"

Well, that was that wasn't it? Time to forget about the damned things and move on with his life. So why was his mouth working without him again?

"But, mine's almost gone and…I'll pay you double the normal price!" seeing Selina's sad face, he pressed on, edging closer to the counter and flicking his eyes over the numerous shelves as if he could spot the miniscule bottle, "Triple!" he promised. Why was he doing this? Gaius would be so mad if he found out he'd spent so much money on-God! Why were his hands so sweaty? Merlin swiped his palms across his pants in what even he knew was a spastic gesture,

"Please?" he said. The woman's mouth fell open, and Merlin was pretty sure his did too. His actions came crashing down around him then like broken glass. He was acting insane! They were just some dumb leaves. Selina was looking a bit scared, and Merlin felt a heavy lump of guilt settle in his stomach,

"I'm sorry – I just…sorry," he mumbled, avoiding her eyes and then rushing out of the shop. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking.

...

"So, I said, 'No, I'm not interested' and the buffoon had the nerve to actually wink at me. Wink at me! He was disgustingly smug, and this is just the kind of terrible, blatant behavior towards women that I've been telling Arthur about," Merlin was having trouble actually listening to Gwen. He plunged Arthur's clothes back into the wash bin and continued to scrub, more vigorously then before. His right forearm was itching again, and the thoughts running through his head felt like a heavy stream of troubles rushing through and pounding the insides of his skull like waves on a rocky shore. He was really beginning to despise being aware. His mind kept flitting back of its own accord to those few leaves he had left under his pillow. He wondered briefly if Gaius had seen them when tidying his room up.

The thought made Merlin scrub harder against the washing rack. He was surprised at hardly feeling any pain when he split his nail accidentally, and he watched with fascination as the blood curled gently into the icy water. He mused that it might soak in with Arthur's shirt, but the thought didn't make him smile. Gwen continued to prattle on about stupid things. He'd never noticed just how shrill her voice could be. It was like tiny needles piercing his head, hot fire trickling deeper and deeper into his ears with each syllable,

"Just shut up, I don't care!" a voice yelled. Merlin looked up, and was about to look for the source of the yell when he realized he had his soaking hands over his ears, and his stomach was twisted into a hot knot of anger. He turned to Gwen, who sat next to him at her own wash bin, her eyes glistening with unfallen tears and her mouth open in shock. Oh, no. She was looking at him. Merlin realized with horror that the cruel words had been his own.

"Gwen, I…" he never finished. The girl's face hardened and she stood abruptly, abandoning her work and running out of the washroom. Merlin heard something that might have been a quiet sob echo back to him from the corridor his good friend was now escaping down. Running away from him. Merlin buried his face in his freezing, bloodied hand. What had he done?

...

Merlin paced back and forth through his room, wishing he had more space to trudge. He didn't notice it, but he was scratching at his arm vigorously, and the skin was now red and irritated. Guilt weighed him down like a wet blanket, soaking into every inch of his being and drowning out the happiness he'd felt not three nights ago. What was wrong with him? The terrible things he'd said to Gwen kept running through his head, and he kept seeing her hurt, shocked face, her eyes wide open in disbelief. And if he ever managed to push that image out of his mind, it would be replaced by Arthur's discerning gaze, or Selina's fearful expression.

What _the_ _hell_ was wrong with him?

No, it wasn't him, he paused to glare hatefully at his pillow, beneath of which was that forsaken so-called medicine. It was _those_. Even now, he burned with desire for the enticing emptiness. Was he really so weak? C'mon, he was bloody Emrys! Still, they were obviously affecting him somehow.

Maybe it isn't them, a loud voice in the back of his head said, maybe you really are that selfish and _cruel_.

No, no he would have never said those things to Gwen if he'd been his normal self. Or maybe you're just kidding yourself, maybe…

"NO!" Merlin opened his eyes. He was hunched over with his hands balled into tight fists at his temples, and he realized he'd spoken out loud.

He looked up frantically, but slumped his shoulders in relief when Gaius didn't come storming into the room. Sighing he tried to relax his taut muscles, and rubbed slow, even circles at his temples. He slowed his breathing and realized his heart was pounding madly against his chest. He looked once more at the pillow, and felt the creeping guilt fade away slowly to be replaced with lust. What would using up the rest of it do? It could have just been the exhaustion finally getting to him that had made him snap at Gwen, after all. Now that he knew the side effects he could apologize to her in the morning, and not have to worry about it anymore.

The more he thought, the hungrier he became for the leaves' oblivion inducing smoke. Some part of him tried to tell him not to do it. The part of that had told him to cover his ears at the banquet he'd first saved Arthur's life. The part of him that caused him to protect both himself and the knights any time danger reared its ugly head. The part of him that he had learned to trust. It was the part of him that seemed so small and unimportant right now.

Just one more, one more and it would all be gone. The leaves would be gone forever (no doubt Selina had sold the last bottle already), and Merlin would cope with the aching heaviness of reality with the same fervor as he used to. That was what he was telling himself as he lunged for his pillow, tearing it off the bed and…

A cry was torn from his throat at the sight of his completely bare bed. Where were they? No! Then, Merlin remembered. Gaius had cleaned his room today, he must have-

Merlin was about to scream out the name of his mentor, but realized that if Gaius did have the leaves, he would most certainly not give them to Merlin if he saw how much Merlin _wanted _them. But he wasn't desperate, not at all. Not really, it was just all the stress piled up that made him want to have the leaves so much. Trying to calm himself, failing though as the blood continued to pound in his head angrily, Merlin opened the door to his room and walked out.

The portly physician was preparing a remedy at one of his stations. Merlin felt something like resentment grip his emotions with the suddenness of a snake's lunge. The old physician really was very fat, and he always had to be oh-so very careful about every single potion...

"Merlin, was there something you needed?" Gaius asked, noticing his ward and setting down the little vial in his hand. Merlin was reminded once again of his missing leaves, and only just managed to choke down a nasty retort before smiling at his mentor,

"Y-yeah, um, I-I-I-was just wondering if you've, uh, seen those leaves of mine?" he asked. His voice had an odd tremble to it that made Merlin wince (so much for his pretense of casual), and he noticed that his hands were wringing. How could they be sweating so much when they were so cold? His arm was itching again.

Gaius pulled off his spectacles, and flicked his eyes up and down Merlin's lanky, fidgeting frame. Merlin tried not to scowl as he realized what the old man was doing. _Judging _him. Like he always did. Next he would do that ugly little eyebrow raise of hi…yep, there,

"Merlin," Gaius said carefully, "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Merlin struggled to fight down the flare of anger at the physician's denial. No doubt he thought Merlin didn't deserve to keep those leaves in his room, didn't deserve Gaius' trust. No, never, not Merlin. He was just a stupid, clumsy _servant_.

"It's just a little bottle," Merlin tried to gesture, playing along with Gaius' feigned ignorance. Maybe he could trick the old man into telling him where he'd hidden it, "About yay high, filled w-with little red leaves. Where is it?" The last came out harsher than he'd meant it to, and Gaius eyebrow climbed even higher,

"Merlin, are you feeling alright?" Oh, now he was patronizing him. Of course, Gaius would think Merlin was trying to hide something.

Merlin decided not to explore the fact that he actually _was_.

"Where're the leaves, Gaius?!" he snapped, suddenly. Unable to take the old man's games anymore. Gaius looked slightly alarmed and his face grew serious as he approached the twitching boy,

"I don't have your leaves, miboy. Are you sure you're…" Merlin slapped Gaius' hand away as he reached toward the young warlock's shoulder,

"Oh, stop it! I'm not stupid, I know you took them. Where are they Gaius?" he demanded. Gaius' mouth fell open, and Merlin's vision was beginning to become spotted with fuzzy black dots,

"Where, Gaius!" he roared.

...

Arthur strode purposefully down the corridor, his boots echoing against the granite walls. A pulsing fury battered his chest, and was only heightened by Gwaine's attempts at cajoling from behind him,

"Really, Arthur, I'm sure there's some explanation," the knight practically jogged to get side to side with the fuming king, "Merlin would never…"

"You didn't see Gwen, she was so-" Arthur felt the anger flare again as he remembered her tears soaking his shirt as he held the girl. Gwaine sighed in resignation, deciding that he would let the king and his servant have their falling out, and would just stand by to make sure things didn't come to blows. Arthur suddenly spoke again as they reached the hall where the physician's chambers resided,

"You don't understand. She trusts Merlin, he's the only one…I mean, after losing her father, and things just aren't that great with Elyan…" he stopped. Gwaine furrowed his brow and shrugged keeping pace with the king until they reach Gaius' chambers. Arthur didn't bother knocking, and burst through the door, roaring,

"Merlin! How could you…?" he was cut off against his will, feeling any thoughts fly away at the sight in front of him. Merlin had Gaius backed up against a shelf. His hands were balled into white fists. He was only a few inches away from the physician, and looked about ready to do something he would regret for years to come.

"MERLIN!" Arthur repeated, incredulous at the scene he'd walked into.

Merlin's head whipped towards Arthur, his teeth bared in a snarl, and his face contorted in fury. Dark circles resided under his eyes, and his skin was even paler than usual. He was sweating large beads and looked to be shaking slightly. At the sight of his king, the warlock seemed to snap out of some kind of raging trance, and his face went wide with surprise and despair as realization of what he'd been about to do hit him full force. The young man's fists unclenched, his eyes regained their normalcy, no longer glowing gold with pulsing magic, and Gwaine seemed to materialize by his side as his legs buckled beneath him. Arthur shook himself out of his shock, and he sprinted forward.

Before he could reach Merlin's side, Arthur heard the sound of ragged, guttural coughing. He fell to his knees next to his servant, and couldn't hold back a gasp when the young man looked up at him with pleading, frightened eyes. Crimson coated hands rested in the young warlock's lap, covered with the same blood staining his lips and chin. Gwaine groaned,

"Oh…Hell," Oh Hell was right.

...

A/N: OK! End of chapter 2, had a lot of fun with this one. :) What did you think? Reviews are like homemade chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven. Seriously. Don't worry, any lack of Merlin whump in this chapter will be made up for later. It's coming, I promise! :D And I know you want whump, cause I'm a terrible person, and so are you.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Okay, next part. This one took a little longer, hope you don't mind. :) More whump in this one (though nothing compared to what's coming later), agitated Gwaine, protective Arthur. All the good stuff. :D Sorry if Gwen's a bit OOC, but I don't really care for the way she is in the show all that much, anyway, so deal with it. ;) Hope you enjoy it! This story's gonna take longer than I expected. But that means more angst and all those lovely things. Have fun!

...

A hot poker of burning ice and fear stabbed at Merlin's heart. He heard Gwaine swear, and wanted to mimic him. He stared at his sticky hands, and was surprised the blood wasn't freezing against his skin, judging by how cold he felt. He took a few deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. He managed to slow his racing heart, and tried not to think about the fact that the blood that was meant to be inside of him now coated his trousers and trembling hands. He met Arthur's gaze, wanting to say something brave or funny that would ease away the palpable tension in the air. Instead, he found his voice to be raspy and quiet. He wanted to duck his head in shame from it,

"I've made a mistake…" he said, then with a slight pleading as some of the fear returned when he looked at the blood, _his _blood, again,

"Arthur, what's happening to me?"

…

Gwen's eyes felt sore and sticky. She swiped at them in frustration, balancing the bucket of water on her hip with one hand, and hating herself for being so weak. What was she anyway? Some simpering milkmaid? Well, technically she was a maid, and she had collected milk before. That was beside the point. Honestly, she shouldn't be so affected by Merlin's words. Everyone had bad days, and this wouldn't be the first time that a servant had snapped at her for being too chatty. Then again, this was _Merlin_. He didn't snap, at least not at her. He was always cheerful, and always made time for Gwen no matter how exhausted she could tell he was. Merlin was the one who she'd watched spend an hour thinking of a delicate enough spell to heal the wing on a baby bird, and then climbed the tree to help it take off. Merlin was the one who, weeks after her father's death, had spirited her away on a "picnic" that had ended with her crying herself to sleep in his lap, him stroking her hair and humming soothingly. After that, the grief had seemed easier to bear, because when she looked into Merlin's eyes, she saw he carried it with him, too. For her.

And so, once she'd had herself a good cry, and the shock and hurt from his outburst had been wormed away a bit by Arthur's touch, she found the anger she'd felt towards Merlin melt away to be replaced with concern.

She knew about Merlin's magic now. She knew about everything that he had gone and was still going through for Arthur and the kingdom. She knew how forced his smiles were sometimes, and how she could see lines forming in places around his eyes and forehead, despite the fact that he was only nineteen. She knew these lines came from hours of worry and concentration, from long nights without sleep and even longer days with no personal reward for all of his efforts as guardian of all they held dear. True, Arthur appreciated his efforts. But, despite the king's insistences, Gwen knew that a pat on the back from Arthur and a "Good job" from Gaius just wasn't enough sometimes. She knew because, sometimes Merlin would slip up in his façade of perpetual cheerfulness.

On any normal day, out in the woods or in the washroom, he would falter when he thought Gwen wasn't looking, and a brief instance in time would show the all powerful warlock with his shoulders slumped under a heavy burden, his eyes darkened with fatigue, and Gwen would realize that she was actually _older_ than him. So were Arthur and Gwaine and all the other knights. Merlin was the youngest of them all, still barely a man, and yet he was the only reason they were all still alive. It was baffling sometimes. But then the moment would pass, Merlin would straighten and smile and Gwen would think she'd imagined it. But she hadn't.

And yet, through all of this, never once did he take out his anger on her or those around him. At least not cruelly, not with so little provocation. The more Gwen thought about it as she strolled through the castle corridors, the more her worry grew. Merlin _had _looked rather pale, more than usual, too. And she remembered how silent he had been. She'd carried on the conversation by herself just because Merlin not responding made her more uncomfortable than she would care to admit. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized how _selfish_ she had been. She should at least have stayed to see if something was wrong. She should have been there for him when he obviously wasn't himself. Worrisome thoughts and questions swirled through her head. She would talk to Merlin tonight. Tonight, she would mend their friendship. She smiled, satisfied with her plan, and made her way to the new medicine woman, Selina's, small shop. She needed something for Arthur's headache.

….

Gwaine didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit. Merlin was sitting on a bench now, looking almost normal if not for the haunted look in his eyes and the distinct lack of color to his skin. Gwaine was pacing, and he knew it was annoying Arthur, judging from the glares he was getting every few seconds. Gwaine made a point of continuing. Gwaine had felt disgustingly helpless during Merlin's…episode….and now all the pent up energy needed to get out somehow.

Merlin was staring down at a cup of water in his hands. He'd obediently drunk some once Gaius had snapped out of his shock induced stupor, and ordered him to. But when Merlin swallowed, Gwaine thought he had never seen anything so painful looking in his life. The boy wasn't shivering anymore, but he still looked weak and rattled and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and tufts of sticky hair stuck up in all directions from where he'd raked his bloody hand through it…And Gwaine. Just. Didn't. Like it.

Merlin kept opening and closing mouth, no sound escaping. He'd said he had something to tell them, but seemed to be having trouble starting. Gaius was standing next to Arthur across from Merlin, looking very patient, which Gwaine couldn't stand. Arthur had his arms folded across his chest, and looked torn between shaking his manservant or hugging him, but was afraid to do either for fear of snapping him in two. Gwaine had to physically force himself not to demand that _someone _get _something _done to help Merlin this instant, or he was going to…

This was different than the other times. This wasn't a normal sick, not the bad fevers he'd got last winter, or the slight case of pneumonia he'd suffered through a few months ago. Those had scared Gwaine as well, but never Merlin. Even after practically heaving up his spleen, the young man had never showed any fear. He'd been miserable, moody, frustrated and in pain, but _never _did he seem afraid. And Gwaine could see he was now. That more than anything else filled Gwaine with such uneasiness that he was wearing a trench in the floor. Truth was the boy was stubborn as all hell and braver than ten battle hardened warriors put together. But now there was a slight tremble in his shoulders, and his eyes were so far away and hooded

Gwaine didn't like it. He _hated _it.

….

Merlin traced his thumb against the clay mug's rim. The blood was mostly washed off, but Merlin didn't remember who'd wiped it away. Maybe Arthur. His head was pounding repetitiously, the pain stabbing him right behind the eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He knew they were waiting for him to talk. And he knew he had to tell them. But he really, really didn't want to. Of all the stupid things he'd done in his life, this one really took the cake. The guilt and horror he felt for almost hurting Gaius lay in his stomach like a ball of cold, heavy lead. They probably thought he was sick, which he was technically he supposed. But no. This was his fault, his and his alone. All because he'd been a bit tired and given into something he should have recognized as a mistake. Arthur would be so disappointed in him. Sighing, he resolved himself to his fate,

"I-" he began, and noticed that Gwaine had stopped his infernal pacing and everyone locked their eyes onto him. Puffing out his cheeks in a loud sigh, Merlin ran his fingers through his hair, and set down the mug on the bench beside him, "I'm addicted to this…What I mean is...Well, you see…" Arthur cut off his mindless tirade with a voice that belied his impatience despite his outward appearance,

"Merlin, just…start from the beginning," he said. Merlin nodded and picked at the bench with one hand in a childlike manner. He made a point of avoiding Arthur's eyes, and watched the little wood splinter he'd pulled from the bench snap between his fingers,

"So, there were these leaves…" he began.

…..

Arthur knew that he looked calm. Years of practice in court had trained him not to show signs of amusement, anger, or any other terribly unseemly emotion, no matter the provocation. Arthur had learned that crossing your arms and making your face completely stoic served to make you look like you knew what you were doing. Arthur felt like hugging himself anyway, so it served dual purposes. Two birds with one stone: hide emotions, suppress emotions. Check. Inside though, it was a different story. His insides churned with worry and impatience and annoying things like guilt and dread. He couldn't help but feel that he should have given Merlin the benefit of the doubt. Of _course _the man wouldn't have said those things to Gwen if nothing had been wrong. And something was wrong. The wrong being _very_ wrong in the form of a pale and shaking Merlin who should be smirking and calling him a prat and not struggling to tell them something that Arthur just _knew _wasn't going to be good. Arthur had to resist the urge to fidget as he watched his manservant carefully. The man looked like hell.

Arthur had cleaned most of the blood away, but it still stained Merlin's pants somewhat, and Arthur could see traces on his own person. He could remember how _much_ blood there had been, however. Far, far too much for his liking. He'd have to make some laws regarding his manservant. First off, no more bleeding. That was a big no. Second…He felt his foot begin to tap rapidly, and he didn't stop it. He needed something to distract him from the vivid images running rampant through his head. Merlin, shaking from the sight of his own blood. Merlin, looking up at him and his voice cracking as he stared with pleading eyes. Asking Arthur to help. Arthur felt his heart twinge uncomfortably at the memory. Bloody hell, he couldn't help the stupid idiot if he refused to tell him what had hap…

Merlin suddenly set his mug down, looking every bit like he was about to attend his own funeral. Arthur didn't like that look. Outlaw that, too. Merlin began to speak, but Arthur cut off his babbling and told him to start from the beginning, glad his voice didn't betray the tight worry in his gut. Merlin took a deep breath, and Arthur thought it sounded painful.

Arthur listened to the story. He almost laughed when Merlin said he'd bought the leaves from the woman just to be nice. Of course he did. Then he went on to explain. Arthur couldn't hold back a frown as Merlin described his feverish need for the leaves. Arthur had heard of addictive drugs before, but none had ever been this fast acting. Maybe it was because Merlin was so skinny, it ran through his system faster. Arthur peered at Gaius, and saw a similar look on his face. So, he was confused too. Could it be…magic? That thought made the growing worry in Arthur's stomach morph into fear, so he decided not to dwell on that possibility. Merlin finished his story with the resentment he'd felt towards everyone. Arthur's frown deepened. He could tell that Merlin was purposefully avoiding discussing the actual effects of the drug, but Arthur could tell from his expression that it had done something big in order to get him hooked so badly.

Arthur could tell that Merlin had been in considerable discomfort all through his story. But once he finished, Arthur could see that it had turned into some kind of pain. He started to turn to Gaius to ask him to do something, when suddenly the blood drained from Merlin's flushed cheeks.

…..

Merlin felt cold. Not the kind of cold from a winter's chill, or the cold at twilight when Arthur insisted they all sleep without blankets when out on hunting trips. He claimed it built character, but Merlin and the knights knew he was just being an arse. But no. This wasn't either of those. This was a cold that originated from deep in his chest, and spread in icy tendrils outward into his arms and legs and up his throat, burning him with each breath. His vision was blurry and slow, colors and bits of light multiplying into rows of themselves anytime he moved his head.

His lungs constricted painfully each time he breathed, so, using his infallible logical abilities, he decided it was just better not to. Black began to dance around in his vision after a few moments of not breathing, and when a familiar voice that was so strong and stern sounding was speaking to him, he realized this might not be the better option. If the not breathing didn't kill him, whoever the voice belonged to _would_ if he didn't resume soon.

When he gasped in a huge breath, however, the pain was almost unbearable, and he found himself curled up in a fetal position, hacking out globs of deep crimson blood. Oh, God he was so cold. He felt huge waves of shivers creep up his spine and rack his frame. His insides burned, hurt like hell, as if someone were continuously stabbing him with a hot dagger from the inside. He just wanted it all to go away. He wanted the pain to stop.

Flashing images of Gaius' eyes filled with fear and confusion hit him like a blow to the gut. And then, Arthur and Gwaine had seen him about to…to…. There were two slightly warmer spots on his arm and back, but Merlin hardly noticed. All he could think was how much all of them must hate him now,

He knew he was apologizing, over and over. His clouded mind was preventing him from controlling his emotions, and Merlin was ashamed of himself for not wanting it to clear. If he wasn't lucid, he wouldn't have to face Arthur with what he had done. He needed to tell Arthur the truth, because he was most certainly not alright. He had been so unbearably stupid and _weak_ that Merlin felt a crushing guilt at his behavior weigh him down. He felt darkness creeping in, and he embraced it. He was weak, again.

…..

Arthur watched in horror and fear as his friend's deep blue eyes glazed over with pain. He curled up in on himself, his breaths wheezy and wet and so _wrong_ sounding that Arthur feared he would stop at any moment. It was only when Merlin actually _did _that Arthur went full king mode, the dread in him fueling his actions,

"Gaius!" the physician was staring down at his sickly ward with shell-shocked eyes. Arthur didn't wait for his reply, but shuffled to kneel right in front of Merlin. He grabbed the agonized looking warlock by his thin wrists, taking note of the way his veins stood out in stark contrast to his ghostly skin, and pulled them away from Merlin's face,

"Merlin. Merlin! Focus, I need you to focus for me, kay?" When the boy didn't respond, and his face, screwed up in agony, started to turn an alarming shade of blue, Arthur felt a kind of cold, steel-like resolve replace his initial panic.

Fine, if Merlin wouldn't breathe on his own, Arthur would _make _him.

"Merlin," he repeated, his voice like sharpened steel, "Breathe…_Now_," Suddenly, Merlin's eyes flew open, and he gasped in a huge breath. Arthur only had a moment to see the little bit of color he originally had return to his cheeks, before the all-powerful warlock thrust forward and coughed as if his lungs were trying to escape. Blood sprayed with a sickening splat from his mouth onto the wood floor. And Merlin fell to his side off the bench, shivering violently. Arthur managed to cradle him a bit as he fell, and lowered him to the floor. Arthur nimbly stepped over him and rubbed slow circles on the boy's back with one hand while the other squeezed his thin bicep reassuringly. He felt the heat of Merlin's skin through his sleeve, and felt his eyebrows creep together. Next thing to outlaw: a shivering Merlin coughing up blood. Any who defied this law would be banished upon pain of death. Suddenly, Merlin spoke, his voice surprisingly strong, if slightly rasping,

"I'm sorry. I'm _so _sorry," the young warlock repeated in a low murmur, "I didn't mean…I'm-I'm _sorry_…" The apologies were like little needles in Arthur's chest,

"It's okay, Merlin. It's not your fault. We're gonna find who did this, make you better, okay?" Despite Arthur's soothing words, Merlin kept up his "sorrys" until Arthur felt his head slump against his lap. He was unconscious. Arthur was glad for it. He shifted around with some difficulty, and suddenly Gaius was by his side, checking Merlin's pulse and forehead. Arthur glared at him despite himself,

"What took you so long?" he asked. But he didn't yell. Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, and Arthur tried not to cower,

"You seemed to be doing quite well by yourself, your majesty. I was grabbing this," he held up a small concoction of tan liquid, and Arthur wrinkled his nose at it. Gaius popped the cork and gestured at Merlin,

"Please, make sure he swallows," he asked. Arthur nodded and grabbed Merlin by his cheeks puckering his lips. Arthur winced as he watched a glob of blood escape from the corner of Merlin's mouth. Gaius poured the potion in, and Merlin swallowed reflexively. Arthur massaged his flushed neck a bit to help it go down, and then scooped Merlin up off the floor, laying him down on Gaius' bed. Merlin wheezed and grabbed a fistful of the blanket beneath him. Arthur had already felt a smoldering anger inside of him, like hot coals beneath a bed of calm. But this little gesture of pain was all it took for his pent up fury to flare, feeding the fire. Arthur turned to Gwaine, and looked him straight in the eye, seeing his own anger mirrored in their depths,

"Let's go find this…medicine woman," It came out like a growl. And Gwaine smiled.

…..

Gwen found herself in front of Selina's shop, and thought it looked abandoned. There was a sign on the door that said, "Out for the afternoon." Gwen thought that was odd, however. The woman had only just come to town, she wouldn't have had to replenish her herbs yet, nor would she probably take a day off when she obviously needed the money. Gwen had met her when they first came to Camelot. She was obviously poor, not quite healthily thin. Gwen was just about to shrug it off and come back later when she saw something strange leaking out from under the doorway. She gasped and ran forward, thrusting open the door and smearing the crimson liquid as she did so. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock, and she felt bile rising in the back of her throat.

Selina's corpse lay on the floor in a puddle of blood. Her eyes were open, and some of the red liquid dripped from the corner of her mouth. Her skin was almost translucently pale, and just before Gwen was about to go find some guards, she noticed Selina's hand curled over a slip of stained paper. Despite her disgust, Gwen knelt forward and plucked the slip from her fist, being careful not to step in the blood. She opened the folded paper, and furrowed her brow in confusion at the words,

_It was Jacob killed me. Find Mercy._

"Gwen?" Gwen turned at the voice, and sighed with relief at the sight of Arthur and Gwaine. Both of them looked at the sight in front of them with shock. Gwen frowned at him. Then, Arthur's face took on a contemplative frown. As if this was an unexpected, but not entirely unprecedented, occurence. Did he know something about this?

"Arthur? Who's Jacob?" Arthur snapped his mouth shut, and looked at Gwen, seemingly not hearing her, looking much older than he was, and said,

"I think Merlin's in trouble. Big trouble."

Sorry if Gaius isn't super touchy feely. He will be a bit more later, though. Hope you liked it. Sorry if any of my medical stuff is contradictory or dumb, but I'm too lazy to research it and it might prevent me hurting Merlin as much as I want, so yeah. Please Please review! One cannot survive on views alone. :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry this one took so long! I know, I know, it's taking a while, but this is mostly a bridge chapter to explain a few things. Though, there is some Merlin whump, nonetheless. Bigger, better things are yet to come!

Arthur didn't see Gwen enter the shop. Nonetheless, he was all but running on his way to see the medicine woman. He didn't know if she was directly responsible, but who owns such a terrible drug, not knowing what it is, and then sells it as a headache remedy? Especially to unsuspecting, hard-working warlocks who end up bloody and sick just for trying to help…Arthur stopped that train of thought before he lost his vision to a red haze of anger. Gwaine was hot on his heels, looking, if possible, even more pissed than Arthur. Arthur hoped that he didn't end up having to restrain Gwaine from attacking the woman (he usually had a strict "no attacking the opposite sex" policy. But this was Merlin!). Normally, Arthur wouldn't be so worried about it, he could handle Gwaine easily. But who was going to reign _him _in?

Arthur's heart skipped a beat when he saw the shop in sight. He bolted for it, ignoring the spectators and glad that Gwaine was with him so it looked like official business. Which, it was, in Arthur's opinion. Highest priority. He skidded to a halt in front of the hut-like place, kicking up gravel and feeling as if ash and embers might burst from his nostrils and ears from the torrent inside him. He bounded up the steps and threw open the door. The orders for arrest and harsh rebukes died on his lips as he struggled to take in the scene in front of him. Gwen stood over the white corpse whose blood was being greedily absorbed by the wood floor. Gwen looked slightly sick, and when she turned to Arthur she looked questioning. She said something, but Arthur wasn't sure what. He was a little too busy trying to rationalize the scene in front of him in a way that it didn't scream complications and trouble.

Selina obviously wasn't dead from natural causes, which seemed far too coincidental to actually be a coincidence. Fighting the sinking feeling in his stomach that signaled much struggle ahead, he looked at the wide-eyed Gwen,

"I think Merlin's in trouble. Big trouble."

…

Merlin woke because he was cold again. Well, just his head, really. The rest of him felt rather flushed, actually. Something icy was trickling from his forehead past his ears and farther down to the nape of his neck. It was annoying, so he tried to swipe at the wet pressure on his forehead. Instead he felt warm, crinkled skin pressing a cloth against his forehead.

"Hush, Merlin. This will help," a soft voice said. Gaius? Merlin cracked one eye open, then groaned at the sight of his mentor's scrutinizing face,

"Please tell me I didn't faint," he said. Gaius chuckled somewhat, not accommodating Merlin's wishes. Merlin moaned again, though this time the slight throbbing ache he felt all over contributed to it. He hated passing out. It wasn't like falling asleep; it wasn't a choice, your body betrayed you, made you helpless. He hated feeling like there was nothing he could do if someone (Arthur) were in danger while he was lying unconscious, drooling into the floor.

He'd never tell Arthur for fear of being teased for it, but he also found it very embarrassing. He'd seen people faint before, their faces going slack and weird, never gracefully slumping to the floor like in stories. Sometimes they would grab onto things nearby before falling, or their head would fall back first, bulging their neck out unflatteringly. Merlin hated to think what he had looked like that time he drank poison for Arthur. He'd also fainted when he became overheated in the middle of training with the knights a few months ago during the summer. They'd later told him that he wobbled around a bit at first, then kind of sunk slowly to the ground. He didn't like to think that all the knights had seen him do that.

"Ugh, brilliant," he said simply

Gaius gave him a sympathetic smile, and Merlin could see the underlying concern behind it. He tried to smile back, then glanced around him to assess his position. He was in Gaius' bed, and his chest no longer hurt so much, but felt threateningly ginger, like if he breathed too deeply it would most _definitely_ start. Merlin held his breath and tried to sit up. He was successful…eventually. He really was feeling much better, if a bit more tired and stiff than usual. He also had a massive headache, but that was to be expected. The unawareness the leaves created was obviously not medically equivalent to a good night's sleep. More like equivalent to a night out with Gwaine. Merlin chuckled at his private joke, and Gaius gave him an odd look,

"How are you feeling, Merlin?"

"Fine, have you found those leaves?" Gaius' face became wary. Merlin realized with a jolt what he was thinking,

"Oh! No, not like that, I just thought…well, that if you could see it, you might recognize it and-" he was cut off by Gaius raised hand,

"It's alright, Merlin. I understand. I did find it. In fact-" the sound of the opening door slamming against the inner wall interrupted him. Merlin turned towards the door, and saw a very unhappy looking Arthur, followed by Gwaine, and, Merlin saw with a sinking feeling, Gwen. Her eyes searched the room quickly, and fell on him. He looked away quickly. He knew she probably hated him right now. Instead he heard rapid footsteps, and then suddenly tan arms were thrown around his neck,

"Merlin, I'm so sorry! I should have seen something was wrong, Arthur told me everything. Are you alright? Do you feel sick? Are you hungry? I can go to the kitchens if you wan-"

"No!" Merlin said quickly. Gwen pulled back from him a bit and sat on the edge of the bed, not looking angry but glaring at him as if she could look through him and see what was wrong. Honestly, the thought of food right now was just not good. After seeing blood come out of himself…he hated to admit it, but he was afraid of knocking something loose by accident.

"No," he said more gently and with a small smile, "I'm not hungry. But thanks," he felt his eyebrows draw together in a frown, and looked down at his hands in shame, "I'm sorry," he said simple. Gwen stared penetratingly for a few more seconds, than smiled encouragingly,

" 'S alright, Merlin. No harm done. Wasn't your fault, anyways," her voice suddenly grew very serious and future-queen like, "I swear to you, Merlin. We'll find who did this," Merlin looked up at her in confusion,

"What do you mean? I thought Selina-" Merlin remembered the other people in the room when Arthur cut into his sentence, walking over with his hand on the hilt of his sword. He tended to do that in situations that stressed him. He tended to do it _a lot_.

"She's dead. Stabbed," was what he said with his usual sensitivity and tact. Merlin blinked. Once. Twice. Then again.

"Okay," he said slowly, waiting for his mind to catch up with this new information. If she was dead, _murdered_, then that meant something else must be at play. Merlin resisted the urge to lower his head into his hands, and met Arthur's eyes, frowning at what he saw in them, "There's something else, isn't there," he stated more than asked. Arthur had one arm folded across his chest and propped the fist of the other beneath his chin the way he did when he was thinking hard. Gwen answered for the obviously preoccupied king,

"I also found this with the corpse…" she pulled something from her apron pocket and handed it to Merlin. He read the words on the front of the slip of parchment, the corners of which were stained with dark, dried blood. He felt his throat constrict at the words and swallowed. The thought of sitting was suddenly far less appealing, so he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, noticing and ignoring how everyone else in the room tensed. Despite a worsening headache and a tightness in his chest, Merlin felt surprisingly normal. Well, maybe a bit dizzy, too. He began to pace and Arthur supplied a restart to the conversation,

"I take it you don't know who this Jacob is?" he asked. Merlin shook his head, but regretted it when the pain increased,

"No, I've never heard of him," he said. Arthur nodded and continued,

"How about Mercy, who's she? It was capitalized so it must be a name, right?" Gaius stepped forward abruptly and stated calmly,

"If I may, sire, I believe that you should be asking 'where' is Mercy," Arthur raised his eyebrows questioningly and Gaius continued with a sigh,

"I searched Merlin's room once you left and found the leaves he spoke of behind his bed," Gaius reached into his tent like sleeves and pulled out the all-too familiar bottle. Merlin was alarmed when he had to force himself not to leap forward. It was only pure disgust at the salivating thoughts in his head that gave him the strength to do so. There was an awful tension in the air following the reveal and Merlin wanted to cut through it with a knife. Gwaine was the first to fill the uncomfortable silence,

"What are they exactly?" he asked, innocently enough but Merlin tensed at the question. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. Gaius sighed and Merlin felt his stomach drop further and further as he began to speak,

"This is a very potent, highly addictive drug called "wisprend", but has many other names depending on where you find it," his face became rather grim and he hesitated. Arthur spoke first,

"Gaius, what does it do?" the question was more like an order, if stated rather gently for Arthur. Gaius sighed and Merlin felt his heart plummet,

"These leaves are highly dangerous taken normally. You administer them in the form of smoke," he raised his eyebrow questioningly at Merlin, who nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak as Gaius continued, "in and of themselves, they contain dangerous substances that eat away at your body's vital organs. It is slow acting, and the damage is not irreparable if the drug is only used a few times and you find treatment right away. However…" here Gaius' face paled noticeably and Merlin, who was already clutching the table in a white-knuckled grip for support, though he fought the fear from showing on his face, wondered how worse the situation was going to get.

"What is it, Gaius?" Gwen, still sitting on the bed, asked imploringly. Gaius sighed and the gesture somehow managed to deepen his wrinkles, and betrayed his true age to those in the room. Merlin struggled to swallow again, but failed this time. The slight ache in his chest had become officially painful, and he tried breathing shallowly to lessen it as Gaius avoided his eyes and instead looked at Arthur,

"When a batch of wisprend is tampered with, that is, enhanced by magic, it is far more fast acting, and far more dangerous," Merlin's head was starting buzz angrily, "It still damages your organs and lungs, but when you stop using it, the withdrawal symptoms are extremely ugly, and even worse than the effects of the drug itself. However," here he paused, and though his face was calm Merlin could tell through the thick haze that had fallen over him that what he was about to say next would not be good.

"However…?" Gwaine prompted, looking very agitated and fidgety as he kept stealing glances over at Merlin. Unlike Arthur and Gaius, he didn't try to hide his concern and worry. Merlin both appreciated and hated that. Gaius sighed and looked at the floor, looking very tired,

"The wisprend is most assuredly fatal if used continuously. The withdrawal symptoms, _however_, are only most likely to kill. There have only been a handful of people throughout history who have actually tried to stop using wisprend after trying it, and only one of them survived," Arthur spoke, and his voice took on a strange tone of complete control. Meaning, inside, Arthur felt completely out of it,

"Gaius, how many is a handful?" Merlin didn't want to hear the answer. His stomach was hurting too now and he just wanted to lay down and curl up into the pain. He thought in the back of his mind that maybe he should voice his discomfort. But what was the point? There was nothing anyone could do. He sat down casually on a bench and hoped they assumed it was because he was absorbing the information. Which, he was. Gaius looked so grave that Merlin wanted to run for the hills for fear of hearing the worst.

"Around twenty, Sire," Arthur's mouth opened slightly in a bit of shock, and Gwaine swore while Gwen gasped a little. Merlin, on the other hand, was too busy trying to breath properly whilst also ignoring the pain it brought. He was pretty sure he was starting to hyperventilate. Gaius said that people did that when they went into shock. But they also start to shiver – oh, there we go.

One out of twenty survived. He was going to die.

He tried to shake away the disparaging thoughts and convince himself that there was still a chance, but all he felt was despair. Despair and resentment towards everything. Three bloody years of dragons and dorochas, poison, bandits and sorcerers. And here he was. Going to die of drug abuse. It wasn't going to be painless, either. And it was all his fault. He realized that his body wasn't cooperating, that he was curled up into a fetal position on the bench, his hands fisted, his jaw clenched and his muscles locked in place. He couldn't move. Couldn't breath. Someone was behind him, rubbing circles on his back and saying something in his ear. It must have been Gaius. Merlin wished he would go away. He didn't want any of them to see him like this, shaking and no longer in control of himself.

He was so ashamed.

…..

Arthur heard the words one survivor out of twenty, and thought that he must have heard wrong. He _must _have heard wrong. There was no way, absolutely no way in _hell_, that Merlin had a five percent chance to live. In fact, he was so completely sure, that he found himself demanding,

"What?!" he was surprised at how loud his voice was. Gaius flinched a little, and glanced over at Merlin, his eyes then widening at what he saw. Arthur frowned and turned around, the sight he saw sent small prickles of fear dancing across his skin. Merlin's back was hunched over, his arms were covering his chest, the hands attached to them in a claw-like position. His jaw was so tightly locked that Arthur feared he would damage it. A blue vein stuck out on his temple and the strain in his eyes and agonized face let Arthur know all too well how much pain he was in. He was shaking, rocking back and forth and small moans escaping every few seconds from his clenched teeth. Arthur realized that he was having some kind of attack, and it sent shivers of panic running up and down his spine. He sprinted forward and landed in front of Merlin on the bench. He could see his servant's eyes, and they were terrifyingly far away. He grabbed Merlin's arms and tried to ease them away gently, but the muscles were taut and surprisingly strong. Arthur felt completely helpless as the lines of distress in Merlin's face somehow got darker and deeper. He didn't handle helplessness well.

"Damn it, Merlin, look at me!" the manservant, of course, did not respond. Arthur was just about to shake the boy until he said something to his king along the lines of "Prat!" or "Arthur, stop that hurts!" or, preferably something more like, "Just kidding! I'm not addicted to a drug that you will have to witness slowly eating away at my insides, killing me in a very painful, very undeserved way." The chances of him saying that, however, Arthur knew, were very slim. Suddenly, Gaius appeared next to Merlin on the bench. He put his weather arm around the boy and spoke soothing nonsense as he rubbed his back. Merlin's face did not change, but he stopped rocking back and forth and the shivering lessened, somewhat. Gaius glared at Arthur, a look that hardly ever crossed the old physician's face and made Arthur want to crawl into a dark corner and die.

"He's not in control of his actions, _Sire_," he spat out the last word with a bit of intentional venom. Arthur had the decency to look properly cowed, though inside he felt that his actions were completely justified. Merlin in this state was completely unlawful, immoral, unjust, and…well, needless to say, Arthur had a tendency to hate anything and everything to do with what was happening. It was just wrong. Merlin was beginning to relax, once Gwaine had sat at his other side and put his hand on his shoulder. His muscles went slack, and his face fell lax. He slumped to the side, and Gwaine supported him, scooping him up with a bit of difficulty and laying him on the cot, though he wasn't unconscious from what Arthur could tell. Gwen, who'd been silent throughout, sat on the bed and clutched Merlin's sweaty hand in her own. Despite the sadness and worry in her eyes, she looked up at Gaius with a hint of steel in her voice,

"You said that Mercy was a where. Explain," Arthur raised and eyebrow at the authoritative tone. If he hadn't known that Gwen would be his future queen before, this sealed the deal. Gaius kept his eyes trained on his ward, but answered her levelly,

"Mercy is a large trading city just outside Camelot's borders. Wisprend originates from this city. I know of the drug because I once did research with an old friend there a few years ago, before Merlin came. I saw the effects of the drug. It was a…terrible sight to behold," his voice took on a storyteller's monotone, though Arthur heard the underlying quiver, "You must understand, Mercy is a very diverse and complicated city. It was originally built as a temporary housing arrangement for travelling merchants in need of rest. Various nomadic performers and shady businessmen heard of the opportunity for franchise. After all, the merchants could use some entertainment and distraction during their rest. Decades have passed and the city has grown into a very large, very exotic location. It's bustling and erratic. Those who live there mostly only do temporarily, and there is no sense of fellowship or principle between the people. Such things as underground drug dealing are considered day to day. Wisprend, however, is the bane of the city's existence. There you will find gamblers, drunkards, cheaters and scoundrels. But nothing so deadly and disgusting as this drug," his eyes took on a very sad tone as he looked at Merlin, who was clutching the sheets beneath him and obviously absorbing this information bit by bit. Arthur marveled at how he was managing to stay so calm. Arthur, himself, was barely holding it together, feeling very much so like he wanted to beat something to a pulp.

"The magically enhanced form of wisprend causes much physical…and mental… harm, and, eventually, death. Unless, of course, the user stops right away and survives the withdrawal systems. Which, is possible," 'so don't give up hope just yet', his eyes said to Arthur. Arthur felt a rush of hope fill him. Of course, Merlin would survive. The blathering idiot always did. Always. Arthur would make sure of it. Gaius seemed to be done, and the silence was only broken when Merlin was pushing himself up off the bed. Gwen tried to help him, but he waved her away, though not unkindly. The fool probably thought he needed to be careful around her, now. No doubt he blamed himself for all of this. Arthur knew it wasn't his fault though. Merlin looked so very tired as he hobbled to his feet,

"I'm going to go lay down for a bit," he forced a shaky smile, "Bit tired, ya know." They all tried to smile back at him, except for Arthur. He was too busy watching Merlin's legs to make sure they didn't give out on him.

Only when the door closed behind Merlin did Gwaine finally speak,

"So what aren't you telling us, Gaius?" his tone was jovial and inviting, but Arthur could see the ice in his eyes. What did he mean, not telling them? Arthur dreaded to think that something else had been left out. How could it possibly get any worse?

He should have learned long ago not to ask himself that question.

Gaius was looking at him now, and addressed him directly as he spoke,

"What I said was true. One man is known to have survived the effects of withdrawal from wisprend. However, he was the sorcerer who enhanced it in the first place. And he healed himself with some special treatment only known to himself," he paused, "The man's name was Jacob."

Arthur felt the blood in his veins reach a roiling boil. He ground his teeth and pinched his palms as his hands clenched into a tight fist. This man had brought this monstrosity into _his _kingdom. This man had caused _his _servant to bleed from the inside out. _His_ friend.

This _man_ was going to pay.

Arthur steadied his breathing and looked at the eyes of each of the people in the room before settling his gaze on Gwaine,

"Gather the knights. We're going to Mercy. We're finding Jacob," his voice turned to molten steel, "We are _saving_ Merlin,"

Gwaine's face split into a feral grin that could have made a corpse tremble,

"Brilliant,"

A/N: Aaah, who doesn't love an overprotective Gwaine and Arthur? I can't wait till they actually meet the dealer. It's gonna be epic. But, not for Jacob. ;) I didn't have as much fun with this one, but it was a necessary bridge chapter leading to the island of angst and whump, hurt and comfort, and all those lovely things. If you enjoyed this, please take the time to Review. I really appreciate the support, and thank you all my followers so much! :D I'm really looking forward to later chapters. Again, **Review**!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello there! OK, so here's the next chapter. I wrote this while on the road to North Dakota, so that was kind of fun. :D OK, sweet Gaius, protective knights, Arthur being Arthur, and, of course, some whump. :) Don't worry, the angst and emotions and whump will all become far more intense in later chapters. I;m just glad they're finally on their quest! Enjoy!

As soon as Merlin closed the door behind him, he immediately dropped to his knees and pressed his ear against the door. He might have a slightly manic, drug abused mind at the moment, but that didn't mean he was an idiot. Gaius was hiding something from him "for his own good", that much was obvious. The muffled voice of the court physician reached his ears,

"…one man survived…own special treatment….name was Jacob," Merlin didn't catch much of the sentence, but he was able to piece together the meaning of the words well enough on his own, and it sent tremors through his spine. Merlin wouldn't survive on his own, not without something "special" from this man: Jacob. This wasn't what Merlin was worried about, however. He was worried, no, he was _certain_, that his bullheaded king was going to go tearing through the forest with his sword and his knights, and would probably end up getting himself killed without Merlin there to protect his royal a-

"…the knights…finding Jacob…_saving_ Merlin," Arthur's voice was low and commanding, the voice that came from deep in his chest when, Merlin knew, he was planning on doing something very heroic, slightly endearing, and always dangerous. Well, Arthur wasn't going off to a sleazy town to find a famous drug lord/sorcerer with only Gwaine and the _knights _for protection. Not on Merlin's watch.

….

"Brilliant," Gwaine said, and not three seconds afterward, the door to Merlin's room burst open. Merlin came striding out, his face a mask of determination and authority which might have even intimidated _Arthur_, if the warlock didn't almost trip over his own feet coming down the stairs to fall flat on his face. Arthur rolled his eyes (though he'd tensed his legs to spring forward if the idiot _had_ fallen), even as Merlin yelled out with resolve, despite his embarrassing fumble,

"I'm going with you," he said. Gwaine grinned widely, looking rather proud of his friend, while Gaius merely raised an eyebrow and Gwen watched from her place on the bed with the eye of a mature overseer. Arthur, on the other hand, glared hard at his friend, who though his sweaty hair was plastered to his forehead, which was glaringly pale, looked back at him evenly with all the pride and defiance of a man raised to be royalty. Cheeky moron, Arthur thought with a not so grudging respect.

"You are _not _coming," he said in a voice that would have made a grown man piss his pants. But Merlin, being, well, Merlin, simply glared back at him, looking very small and larger than life, and said,

"Pardon me, _your majesty_, but what makes you think you can stop me?" he sneered. Arthur was very well aware that he couldn't. Arthur could swing a sword as the best of them, but Merlin could turn his sword into an oversized dandelion and his right arm into a French baguette without blinking twice. Arthur pictured this, and suppressed a shudder. He felt a wave of hot frustration surge through him at his manservant's idiocy. Why must he always insist on putting himself in the most dangerous of situations? He would have to send the man to a self-preservation course for idiots. He wanted to shake Merlin and make him understand. He wanted to scream at him, telling him how he needed rest and care and a real bed, not a forest floor. He wanted to tell him that he was going to cough up more blood and hallucinate and have attacks that Arthur was not capable of dealing with. He wanted to tell Merlin that he didn't want to see him die in front of his eyes because he'd been too stubborn to take care of himself. Arthur didn't need protection. Merlin did. He opened his mouth to say some rather unkind words, most likely, when Gaius stepped between them,

"Sire, if I may," he said calmly, though with a hint of resignation, " I believe Merlin is right," Arthur felt his jaw drop open, but the old man silenced him with a raised hand,

"I'm afraid, sire, that Merlin does not have the time to wait for your return from Mercy. He has a few weeks, at most," when he said this, Arthur could feel the pain in his voice, "By the time you returned, it would be too late," Arthur felt his anger die down to a simmer. But he wasn't willing to give up yet,

"But the trip itself could kill him! I'll go on my own. I'll be able to move faster and…"

"You'll get yourself lost or murdered, you dollophead!" Merlin burst out. Gaius turned towards him, and from the look on Merlin's face, his eyebrow had climbed to its usual position. The man was on a roll today. Merlin bowed his head, though his cheeks were flushed a bright red. Whether from the anger or his sickness, Arthur didn't know. Gaius turned back to Arthur,

"Arthur," he said, and the use of Arthur's name calmed the king down a bit, "We are unaware as to the exact nature of this treatment that will help Merlin. Until we do, there is a chance it is not in a mobile form, and; therefore, your efforts would be for naught. Also, the trip will not strain him enough to speed the drug's effects in his system," Arthur bowed his head, similar to Merlin, and tried his best to be rational. This…wasn't one of his strong suits. Especially, he had to admit, when it came to Merlin. For instance, rationality would tell him that if he continued his morning ritual of throwing his goblet at the back of his manservant's head, then Merlin would reach senility at a faster rate. Of course, he didn't stop. Cause Merlin didn't get hurt. Merlin was young, and spry, terribly skinny but otherwise healthy, and always cheerful, working hard in the background to keep Arthur and his kingdom afloat and happy. But Merlin was sick now. Very, very sick. And Arthur didn't know if he could handle it.

When had this happened? When, in the past _three_ days, had things gone so terribly wrong, so grave? Arthur could handle going to Mercy. He could handle riding hard and looking ahead, not thinking about a painfully weak Merlin back at Camelot, slowly dying and waiting for his return. He could handle finding this man, Jacob, and getting an antidote and bringing it home and giving it to Gaius so _he_ could fix everything. He could handle any battle, or challenge or group of bandits trying to hinder him. Arthur could fight and get his hands dirty no problem. But, could he watch Merlin, as he suffered? How long would he be able to stand the sight of his friend's blood? What if he had to watch him-?

"No," Arthur murmured under his breath, but not so anyone could truly hear what he said. Merlin, of course, didn't miss a thing, but opened his mouth as if to ask Arthur what he had said. Arthur cut him off before he could,

"Fine, Merlin, fine," he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I suppose I have no choice," Merlin tried to give him an encouraging smile, but it ended up looking more like a pained grimace, and Arthur felt his anger melt away a little. Truly, the loyal idiot didn't deserve this.

He didn't deserve _any _of this.

Jacob had a lot to answer for.

Arthur turned to Gwaine again, who was obviously also concerned, but was smiling impishly, anyway.

"I thought I told you to gather the knights," Arthur growled. Gwaine pretend pouted, but Arthur just glared at him.

"Ugh, fine," Gwaine whined, throwing his head back then leaping to his feet, "Should I tell them what's happening, your highny?" Arthur ignored the name, and considered the question for a few moments.

…..

"Should I tell them what's happening, your highny?" Usually, the use of that title would have made Merlin laugh, but Gwaine's question was throwing him for a loop. Should they tell the knights? Merlin thought about it for a moment. Elyan and Leon would start walking on egg shells around him…all. The. Time. Percival might still be normal, but, then again, there was that time that Merlin had mentioned having a cold when he was around the man, and the next thing he knew, he was bundled in a cloak and being carried to Gaius' chambers at breakneck speeds.

Okay, maybe Percival couldn't be relied upon for normalcy.

Arthur suddenly lifted his head and spoke,

"Yes. Yes, they deserve to know," he said, and Merlin felt his heart drop,

"No, Arthur, please," he laughed a humorless laugh and took a step forward imploringly, "If you tell them, It'll be hell on earth on the way to Mercy," Arthur's face looked a little less pinched, suddenly, as if the sight of Merlin pushing back on the idea of being coddled made him feel a bit better. Merlin was glad of it. He wasn't sure what Arthur thought of him now. Did he think he was weak? Probably. Arthur had so much on his shoulders already. A long quest away from Camelot was _not_ what he needed right now, to say the least.

On the other hand, Merlin wasn't about to argue that point with all he had.

"Merlin, they need to know. I trust them. Don't you?" Merlin felt a flare of the familiar, irrational anger, and quickly tamped it down. Gwen saw, and spoke for him,

"Arthur, shouldn't Merlin get to decide this?" she said, her voice soft, but firm. Arthur shook his head, and opened his mouth when Merlin spoke up,

"Of course I trust them, Arthur. I just don't want them to-to think of me differently," Arthur's face softened,

"Merlin, you don't have t-" Gaius interrupted him by turning to Merlin,

"Merlin, Arthur is right. The knights need to know," he sighed and rubbed his crinkled forehead, "You must understand, miboy, they will find out no matter how you go about it," Merlin's face fell at that, and he knew Gaius was right. Merlin had already coughed up blood and had some sort of…episode. If he was only going to get worse, and he hated the thought, then the knights would find out no matter what they did. Merlin didn't say anything, but he sighed and nodded.

Gwaine clasped his hands and grinned,

"Alright then," he said, "Shall we?"

…..

"Merlin, if I may speak to you for a moment?" Gaius said, watching the back of his ward as the boy packed for a trip that would last a few weeks.

"Umm, I-I can't right now Gaius. Arthur wanted to leave as soon as possible, and I have quite a lot to pack, and I-"

"Merlin…"

"-have so much to prepare, Arthur may want-"

"_Merlin_,"

"-to have extra provisions, especially if-"

"Merlin!" The young man finally halted in his steps and stared at the ground. His shoulders were quivering slightly, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. Gaius felt a rush of affection and pity towards his ward. He dealt with so much, was burdened with _so_ much.

Yet, he still found time to feel guilty.

Gaius rushed forward and spun Merlin around, seeing the wetness in the young man's eyes, then pulling him into a tight embrace. Merlin didn't cry, but he shook as Gaius rubbed the back of his neck reassuringly, shushing him gently and saying he wasn't angry, and that it wasn't Merlin's fault. Gaius felt his heart rip apart as he held his ward.

After a few moments, they pulled apart, Gaius gave him a small, reassuring smile and Merlin tried to return it, but ended up just curdling his lips. Gaius loved him for putting in the effort, though.

"Listen to me, Merlin," Gaius began, hating himself for what he was about to say, "You…You are going to have to be strong, my boy. You will suffer much in these coming days, more than any man should have to. Especially, someone like you," his voice gave out on the last word, and he cleared his throat before continuing, "You will…be effected in your mind, as well as your body. I just-just want to let you know, th-that we all care for you. Don't lose hope. I love you, Merlin," Merlin's eyes got suspiciously watery, and Gaius swallowed past the lump in his own throat, "Trust Arthur. Trust the knights. They will have to be there for you. You will all have to be strong," Gaius put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, "Have faith, Merlin. Sometimes, it's all we can do," Merlin embraced him, and they stayed that way for a moment, before Merlin pulled back, grabbed the pack on his bed and strode to the front door leading out into the corridor. He opened the door, and turned around, giving Gaius his signature smile. Gaius would give anything to see that again before the end of the month,

"Thank you, Gaius," they were simple words, but Gaius felt the reservoir of emotions behind them. He smiled at his ward,

"Good luck, miboy," he said. Merlin smiled one last time, and Gaius watched as the bravest man he knew, the most important person in his life, closed the door, leaving an overwhelming silence in his wake,

"Be safe."

…..

Gwaine peered appraisingly at the group of disgruntled knights in front of him. The atmosphere of the stables was quiet. It was evening already, but Arthur had insisted they leave today, which Gwaine could understand, needless to say. So, the stables were virtually abandoned except for the lazy livestock.

Elyan looked annoyed, obviously he had other plans. Gwaine almost envied him except for the fact he knew that Elyan's other plans usually consisted of something, well, alcohol free. He was probably planning on group knitting, or something. Percival looked tired, trying hard to keep his eyes open, but also curious as to why Gwaine had gathered them there. Leon was wide awake and alert, his back ramrod straight. Gwaine appreciated this responsive part of his audience. Gwaine folded his arms across his chest and addressed them,

"Alright, girls, we're going on a quest," he said. Leon nodded, Percival perked up considerably, while Elyan just glowered further. Gwaine ignored him and continued,

"Arthur has given me the task of explaining to you thugs exactly why we're going, and where," This time, all three had the decency to look a bit more interested. Usually, Arthur would explain to them as they rode out of the gates why on earth they were leaving. Gwaine gestured with his hand to a large bale of hay,

"Please, sit," he said. The knights complied, though Percival knelt by the bale, instead, because he was pushing the others off with his bulk. Gwaine had sworn to himself that one day he would get Merlin to give him Percival's arms, so _he_ could wear sleeveless chainmail anytime he bloody well felt like it. At the thought of Percival waking up with Gwaine's smaller arms to go along with the rest of his immenseness, he smiled. Then, at the thought of Merlin, the smile left. He'd been cheerful and nonchalant since Arthur suggested finding the son of a bi-, well, _undesirable_ who'd done all this in the first place. He did it for Merlin's sake, he told himself, but knew that it wasn't completely true. Anytime he thought of the young man, wrapped in Gaius' arms but shivering and not in control of himself…completely and utterly wrong, he thought. He wanted to pound his fist into the wall, wanted to scream into the heavens, beg for an answer as to why the best man he knew, the one who'd done nothing but good for all of them was the one who was suffering through this. Why hadn't it been someone else? Why hadn't it been Gwaine?

And that's when he would push his thoughts aside and grin meaninglessly, because Gwaine needed to be himself. For Merlin.

The knights settled into their makeshift seat, and looked up at Gwaine with a mixture of confusion, interest, and also defiance on Elyan's part. Gwaine smiled at them, feeling a bit more cheered at the thought of going to Mercy. He'd been there once before, and was a bit offended at Gaius rendition of it. He was right, of course, but still, Gwaine had broken many a heart and emptied many a mug in that town. He had a bit of fondness for it, so returning was an entirely welcome prospect.

There was also the fact that he was going to get to bash in the skull of the man that had _dared_ do this to Merlin. So that was good, too.

Gwaine regarded his friends, then cleared his throat, knowing he was going to get a lot of crap from this next statement,

"It's about Merlin," he said. Elyan bolted to his feet while Leon's hand went to rest on the hilt of his sword, his face hardening into a mask of action. Percival made a sound in the back of his throat that was far too much like a growl to not make Gwaine fear him a little bit. The pulsating power of three very overprotective knights would have scared away any who happened to walk in at that moment. In fact, the livestock surrounding had suddenly got very fidgety..

"What is it Gwaine? What's wrong?" Elyan demanded. Gwaine stared him down for a minute, and though Gwaine blinked first, Elyan sat down anyway. Elyan never lost a staring contest, but he wanted to know what was going on. Gwaine eyeballed him for a minute more, then said to all of them, carefully and slowly,

"Merlin has become the victim of a dangerous drug, called wisprend. He is addicted, but luckily there is no more for him to get to, so we're good on that account," the knights tensed, waiting for the bad news, "Unfortunately, he still is going to go through withdrawal. This is going to kill him," Gwaine was surprised at how much it hurt to say it out loud. The knights all started talking at once. Demanding answers and spouting denials. Gwaine had expected this,

"Shut up!" he yelled. And they did, if somewhat reluctantly. Gwaine sighed, and hated the way it sounded coming from his mouth,

"Merlin _will_ survive though. Cause we're gonna find the man with the cure," he shrugged, "Who also happens to be the man who made this drug in the first place," the knights were calm, for the most part, if a little heavy in the breathing, and more _veiny _than usual. Percival spoke first, his voice had a menacing tone that would, and could have cleaved a man in half if not for some restraint on his part,

"_Who_?" he asked simply, but behind the words could be found the many things that would be done to the person in question. Gwaine smiled genuinely this time, and knew it wasn't pretty,

"His name's Jacob," he said, "And I've called dibs,"

…

Merlin swung himself into the saddle, making sure Arthur and the knights saw him when he did. The pain he felt inside at the movement was not pleasant, to say the least, but he managed to keep his face and back straight as they galloped from the courtyard. He tried not to look back, knowing Gwen was crying a bit and not wanting to make her feel embarrassed. The goodbye they'd had was messy and sad, and Merlin wished for the thousandth time that day that he had never touched the wisprend. Gwen had kissed him on the cheek and hugged him very tightly, telling him once again how he shouldn't feel bad and that he was going to be okay. She had said the same thing as Gaius: trust Arthur.

Merlin glanced back at the knights behind him. Elyan and Leon were pointedly avoiding his eyes. Yep, eggshells. Gwaine, on the other hand, was trying very hard to make him feel okay. He would look Merlin straight in the eye any chance he got and smile encouragingly. Merlin appreciated their attempts, even though it made him feel like an invalid. Percival was surprisingly normal, if a bit grim and holding onto his reins too tightly. Arthur didn't look at him either. His face was a mask of calm and determination. Merlin didn't mind that. At least, Arthur wasn't trying. Merlin liked that better, made things seem more…usual. Arthur had left the council in charge, telling them he was going on a top secret mission for the kingdom, which he wouldn't have done, if the circumstances had been different.

Merlin felt the guilt returning as he looked ahead at the rapidly approaching gate. To anyone watching them riding past, they might have been going hunting or on a patrol, if not for the unusual silence between them.

The sun was set by now, Faint traces of orange and purple in the west slowly fading away to the dark blue of twilight.

Merlin resisted the urge to wrap an arm around his stomach. It didn't hurt much anymore, if a bit aching. His chest was pained and constricted, so his breathing was shallower than normal. The night air was chilled and silent, and Merlin knew that the sooner the sun appeared, the better.

…..

They rode through the night. Normally, Arthur would have preferred to sleep a few hours and start out at dawn, but time was of the essence in a very big way. He rode a bit behind Merlin so that he could keep an eye on him without the warlock knowing. He was obviously rather sensitive at the moment, and he didn't want to make him feel like he was under surveillance.

Of course, he _was_.

The air was cold and dry, but invigorated him with early morning energy. Dawn had come just a few hours before, and he and the others were all tired. Arthur decided they would ride for the rest of the day, then bunker down tonight and get some rest. Merlin had around three weeks. The trip to Mercy, if unhindered, would take two. Enough time.

Nowhere near what Arthur would like.

The tension in the air was palpable, and Arthur almost wished they hadn't told the knights the truth. Merlin rode in the lead of their group, and was making it his goal not to look back at them. At all. Arthur sighed. This couldn't go on. He kicked in his heels, and the horse trotted forward a few paces to fall in step with Merin's.

"Merlin a-are you alright?" he asked. Merlin didn't snivel. He didn't snap or growl or react in any of the way's Arthur expected. Instead, Merlin turned to him with one highly cocked eyebrow, and said loudly for all to hear,

"Why, Arthur! I didn't know you cared," he cried in a high-pitched voice. Gwaine chuckled and Arthur felt sweet relief at the sudden normalcy. He snorted and reached over to whack his manservant,

"Hardly, you idiot. I simply don't want to have to scrape your sorry corpse out of the dirt if you fall off your horse," Merlin laughed and so did all the knights, the familiar banter easing away the worry. Gwaine smiled and rode up beside Merlin, elbowing him and whispering conspiratorially into his ear. Merlin laughed at whatever he said, and Arthur scowled, pretending to be annoyed even though he felt much lighter than he had in…well, it had only been hours, truthfully, but it felt like longer.

"What are you two bumpkins blathering about?" he asked. Gwaine shook his head and waggled his finger as if to say "No, no, that's classified information." Arthur scoffed and Merlin looked over at him with an amused glint in his eye,

"Really, Arthur, you'd think that maybe-may-m-maybe-," Arthur felt his heart stop and he was leaping off his saddle before Merlin's shivers even started. The young man was curling in on himself, stuttering bits and pieces of his unfinished sentence and shaking so badly Arthur had to pull him off his horse for fear he would fall off. The knights all rushed over as Arthur lay Merlin on the soft earthen floor beneath one of the trees. Merlin was sweating profusely and lay in a fetal position, curled into a ball with his arms around his knees as he tried desperately to remain in reality, his face tight with pain and his eyes lost to the here and now.

"Arth-Arth-Arthur…" Arthur felt his heart tear in two at the sight, literally _felt_ it shred, and he immediately sat down and gathered the young man in his arms, rubbing his back in small circles and ignoring the astonished and horrified faces of his knights as they finally saw that Merlin was, indeed, very sick. As he felt Merlin's painfully taut muscles slowly relax in his arms, and the shivering finally die down, Arthur felt anger take the place of blood in his veins, coursing through him like a blaze of white fire.

The previous atmosphere of normalcy was gone. The situation was far too real. Arthur looked up at his knights, taking in the fury of their own expressions and approving. Finally, Merlin stirred, sitting up and avoiding Arthur's eyes. He was obviously feeling ashamed, probably thought he was a burden. Arthur would have to talk to him about that. Merlin nodded, to say he was okay now, and a collective, unvoiced sigh of relief reverberated through their small party. Without saying a word, the now downcast group remounted their horses, and set off at their standard pace.

…..

Merlin knew he was having another attack. He knew as the familiar, unbelievable cold spread through him once more. He gasped, and realized he was still talking, instinctually trying to cling to reality. He was weightless for a minute, then wasn't. He must have been placed on the ground, he realized, and a feeling of resentment began choking him. He was calling out a name, trying to make them realize he was okay, he didn't need help. He didn't want them to see him like this; clenching up and out of control. _Pathetic_. Suddenly he was in someone's arms. Arthur, probably. Merlin wanted to scream at him, kick and howl and show he wasn't weak. He didn't need their _pity_. He was on Arthur's sleeve and it was like gravel on his face, a hand was on his back, and he wanted to recoil from it as if from fire. He didn't want to be comforted. He didn't want to be _touched_. Frustration and resentment built up inside of him like a dam staunching his reason and clarity.

The pain was…immense.

Finally, _finally_, it all stopped. The fury receded, along with the pain, and was quickly replaced with guilt and shame. How could he feel so…unlike himself? How could he feel so much hatred towards those in his life most important to him? He ducked his head as he sat up, and decided not to try and joke for a while.

Gaius had said to have faith.

That was going to be harder than he had thought.

A/N: Oh, poor Merlin. I'm so evil. ;D Hope you liked it. More whump later, and interactions with the knights. We're in for an awesome ride. :D If you liked this, please **Review** . You're support is so awesome, and you guys are great!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: OK, this next chapter came pretty quickly, so I hope you guys'll forgive me if the next one takes a bit longer. ;) Leon's POV! 3 Some comic relief and angst. :D Don;t worry, the next chapter will be more involved with the actual plot of the story. :D

...

Leon flicked his eyes over to check briefly on the softly snoring warlock. It had been several hours of suffocating silence since his "attack", and was now the early evening. Merlin had drifted off around a half hour ago, no doubt exhausted from the past few days.

Leon smiled at the sight. Merlin's face was squashed against the mane of the horse beneath him, the hair of the horse slightly wetted from the young man's drool. His mouth was wide open, his own hair untouched and wild. Leon chuckled quietly to himself, thinking that Merlin almost looked completely normal, if not for the slight flush to his paler than normal cheeks, and the wet rasp to his breathing that most definitely had not been there before. Leon had discovered that everyone looked different when they slept.

Leon, unbeknownst to the others, stayed awake long after the others fell asleep when on a patrol or hunt. He'd seen Percival thrash from nightmares, and had been there to quiet him back to a restful sleep with his presence. Leon had seen Elyan fight dragons in his bedroll, listened to Gwaine tell stories and lecture like a scholar in the dark. He'd even seen Arthur suck his thumb from time to time, mumbling unintelligibly except for the time Leon had distinctly heard the word "fluffy" leave the king's mouth.

For the sake of peace in the kingdom, Leon had never brought that up. Ever.

Merlin looked younger when he slept. Well, not younger, Leon supposed. He simply looked his true age. When sprawled out, unkempt and unconscious, the heaviness in Merlin's shoulders fell away; the familiar strain and premature wisdom disappeared from his face. He looked like the boy he still was. He looked that way now.

Leon was glad he slept, away from all his burdens, if just for a little while. He deserved that much.

Leon discreetly stole a glance over at the others. Percival was reading from the small book of proverbs he kept in his trouser pocket, muttering some of the words to himself and chewing his lip occasionally. Elyan was absentmindedly polishing his sword with a greasy rag, awkwardly positioned on his horse in a way that Leon feared he might nick himself. Gwaine kept his eyes locked ahead. Leon knew he was trying hard to maintain his perpetual façade of optimism. But Leon could see the knight clenching and relaxing his hands repeatedly, his ankles quivering next to the flanks of his horse in an effort not to ram them in. Leon could understand this. He himself was managing not to cry out by cataloguing the discomfort of his comrades.

Arthur was the worst of them all. His face was carefully trained, betraying nothing of the emotions Leon could see he was feeling by the tautness in his shoulders and the way his eyes never left the slumped form of his manservant, the blue orbs locked on the boy with a fierceness that belied any misconceptions of an uninvolved, uncaring king. Arthur was obsessively protective to a fault. Something he and Merlin had in common. It was as if the two were in a constant contest to see who could give the other the biggest heart attack, so, naturally, the two were constantly wary of the other's safety.

And Leon and the knights were left in the background to worry about the _both_ of them.

Leon was pulled from his thoughts as, suddenly, Merlin let out a dragon's roar of a snore that probably startled any living thing within the nearby vicinity, before mumbling something in his "magic" language and slumping farther into the horse's neck. A burst of light followed by a sparkling swarm of shimmering, miniature pots made from magic popped into existence above the group, before flying outwards in all directions, tinkling bell sounds fading with their departure.

They all stopped, Merlin's horse included, and gaped at the sight in astonishment for a moment. Elyan looked at Percival. Percival looked at Arthur, who looked at Gwaine who looked to Leon. Merlin let out another loud snore, then smacked his lips and continued his sleep.

The silence stretched on for about five seconds before the group burst out in simultaneous laughter. Elyan guffawed and

tried to wipe away the tears from his face, while Gwaine fell from his perch on his horse to roll on the ground below. Leon doubled over, clutching his side and struggling to breath as he howled. Arthur laughed too, though his eyes were on the sleeping form of Merlin,

"What the hell?!" he gasped out loud what they all were thinking. Percival shrugged his massive shoulders, even as they shook from his giggles,

"While we dream of women, drink and glory, Merlin's mind's on pots!" he joked. This sent the knights into new peals of laughter. Leon ran a hand through his hair with a small smile, having been, of course, the first to calm down,

"I'm glad of it," he said, without thinking. The laughter died down slowly and reluctantly as Gwaine remounted his horse, still chuckling and looking at the young warlock with brotherly affection.

"As am I," Arthur said in response, nodding solemnly as he tugged gently on the reins of Merlin's horse and they resumed their movement. There was a silent ripple of agreement through the group. At least they knew that Merlin was safe in his dreams.

…

Merlin's woke to the smell of musty hay and stale sweat, something wet was on his cheek and when he gasped inward, a piece of gritty hair flew into his mouth to tickle the back of his throat. He reared backwards in revulsion, blustering and spitting,

"Good lord!" he yelled, swiping at his nose and face to wipe away the drool. He turned, knowing how red his ears had turned, and saw that all the knights were pointedly looking away from him, hiding their smiles in order to humiliate him further.

"Hehe," Elyan chuckled evilly from somewhere behind him. Merlin smiled and raked a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to tidy it. The forest around him was bathed in warm glow of orange and red. Sunset, then. Arthur would have them stop soon.

Merlin coughed embarrassedly, and gave a nervous laugh,

"Uhh, how long was I asleep?" Arthur, who was riding by him at a comfortable trotting pace, looked over with an amused glint that Merlin had missed,

"Long enough," he said, sharing a conspiratorial glance with the knights.

Merlin shuddered to think what that look meant. He cleared his throat and looked ahead, deciding not to dwell on it for his own sanity.

….

The sound of crickets chirped in the distance, soothing and constant. Merlin closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the cool sensation of the evening breeze upon his chest and through his hair. He liked this cold. It didn't come from inside and wasn't there to hurt him. This cold was meaningless, trivial. He liked it.

Merlin was tired. Arthur had been watching him carefully, trying to do it in secret, but Merlin had seen, of course. His concern was exhausting. Not that Merlin didn't appreciate it, he _did_. But…it was just so wrong. Arthur had a tendency to watch. When he thought you were injured, or hurting, or even upset at something, he bore a hole in you with the steely glare of a…well, of a king. It was disconcerting, made you fidgety. Merlin didn't like him to stare. He was still Merlin, he was still himself. Wasn't he? He wasn't going to fall apart at the seams out of nowhere.

_No, you're going to break apart **slowly**, and **painfully**, with **everyone** there to watch. _

The bitterness of that thought tasted like bile in his throat.

Oh, wait, that was actual bile.

Hell.

Merlin just had time to leap from his horse and rush to the trees before he was violently sick onto the forest floor. He was doubled over from the pain in his stomach. His insides felt on fire, no, they _were_ fire, tendrils of icy blaze eating away at him from the inside out. Nausea rose up inside of him, and he heaved once more, the sickening splattering sound giving him a headache. Oh, God, please just make it _stop_, he prayed.

…..

Arthur saw a movement from the corner of his eye, and turned worriedly to see Merlin stumbling away from his horse before falling to his hands and knees and retching into the dirt. Arthur growled in frustration and rushed to his friend. He looks away for one _split second_!

Merlin made a whimpering sound in the back of his throat that hit Arthur like a punch to the face. He knelt on one knee next to his hunched over friend and even as he reached to pat his shoulder, he saw that mixed with the vomit was much red. _Far_ too much red. Arthur felt a chord of sympathy strike inside of him, and when Merlin heaved again and more blood and sick hit the leaves and pooled in the dirt, he wanted nothing more than to cover Merlin's eyes so he wouldn't see. No man deserved to see some of his life spill out of him. _Merlin _shouldn't have to.

Suddenly, Percival was next to him, holding out his water skin with a strained, pitying expression. Arthur took it and nodded. He was grateful, but inwardly wished that the others weren't here to see. Heaving up your stomach's contents was a terrible feeling, but when other people were there to watch…? He felt Merlin shudder a bit underneath his hand, and spit into the ground. He winced in sympathy. Arthur remembered being sick when he was a child, and all the wet nurses and maids rushing in and out of his room, watching as he was sick into the bucket he'd been given. He'd felt so weak, so…alone. Merlin dry heaved a few more times, and the knights kept a respectful distance. Gwaine looking pinch-faced and seemingly only held back by the strong grip Leon had on his bicep. When Merlin finally quieted, Arthur squeezed his shoulder, and said,

"You alright?" he asked. The boy had tensed under his touch, as if he hadn't noticed Arthur there before, and swiped a sleeve across his mouth with a stubborn sniff,

"M'fine," he said quietly. Arthur could hear the pain behind his voice, and frowned at Merlin's hostile tone. He silently handed him the water, and tried to catch the warlock's eye, but Merlin purposely avoided his. Right.

Arthur resisted the urge to sigh. After all, who could blame the young man? He obviously still felt guilty about…well, whatever it was that Merlin found to be guilty about. Everything, usually. He stood, leaving Merlin to recover in peace, and turned to the knights, only having to nod to let them know they were staying here for the night. It wasn't an ideal camping ground, but there was a creek nearby, Arthur knew, and the branches on the trees were high enough they wouldn't catch fire.

From the looks of concern thrown Merlin's way from all the knights as they set up camp, Arthur knew this was going to be a long night.

…..

Merlin balled his fists and rested them on his thighs while he ducked his head and fought to control his breathing. The pain was excruciating, but lessening in intensity with each passing, endless second. What really bothered him was the hate seeping from him that was retreating agonizingly slowly. Why had he been so crass with Arthur? He'd only been there to help him. And despite what Merlin had felt, he hadn't been there to pity or scorn him, just to be there. To be Merlin's friend. The old feeling of guilt welled in his gut once more. That stupid drug.

That stupid, _stupid_ drug.

_You're stupider for having touched it in the first place. Blast your thoughts of pity and empathy. The woman could have bloody well got on by herself!_

Merlin gasped a bit at the sudden rush of dark thoughts trying to reassert their place in his mind. He needed something to do, needed to help, do _something_. Fast. He stood from his place, and turned to see the group setting up camp. Without him of course.

_You're **useless **now._

Merlin literally shook the thought away. With every instinctually resentful emotion, he felt himself slipping farther. These were his friends. They wanted to help.

"Arthur," he called, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice. Arthur turned towards him, and did well in keeping his face placid,

"I'll go gather some wood," he said, trying for a bit of a smile that wouldn't betray his need to move, and be alone. It seemed to work, because Arthur nodded and smiled back, though Merlin could see the reluctance and strain behind his eyes,

"Don't go wandering off," he teased. Merlin tried for a laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. He strode off into the forest, towards the nearby creek they'd passed earlier. As soon as he was out of sight of the knights, he wrapped his arms around himself and let out a shaky breath.

He felt the cold starting inside of him again, felt it clawing its way through him with no mercy, no hesitation. He knew he was having another attack. He knew it was going to hurt, knew he was going to shake and seize up and fold into the pain, hoping for its end.

He didn't want them to see…not again.

…

"Follow him," Arthur said. Gwaine was already striding into the trees after his friend, so there was really no need. Merlin had obviously been in pain, though not just physically. Which made everything ten times worse, overall. "Pain" and "Merlin" in the same sentence tended to make Gwaine's skin crawl.

That, and the words "alcohol" and "none". Though not nearly as much.

Gwaine followed the sound of Merlin's footsteps and the sight of his blue shirt, proud he was stealthy enough that the boy didn't notice him from twenty feet away.

Suddenly, Merlin stopped, and Gwaine almost fell on his back side grinding to a quick enough halt that he wouldn't be heard. When he regained his footing, Gwaine peered forward from his kneeling position behind a tree, and felt his heart rise into his throat to form a formidable lump there. Merlin was by the creek, crouched down with his arms around his stomach, rocking back and forth on his heels and obviously in quite a lot of pain. Disregarding any pretenses of not being seen, Gwaine shot forward to his friend, who was now shivering and clenched up, small whimpering sounds escaping from between his locked teeth, and beads of sweat trickling down his temple.

Gwaine skidded to a stop next to his friend, kicking up a few pebbles and almost falling into the river. He reached a hand forward, ready to comfort Merlin in the way he'd seen Arthur and Gaius do,

"_Don't touch me_!" Merlin hissed, the words flying from his mouth like acid spittle. Gwaine stumbled backward, more than a little stunned at the outburst.

"Merlin…?" he asked, feeling hurt. The warlock just made a growling sound, then whimpered again and hugged himself tighter, as if to squash the pain. Gwaine tried to reach forward again, but Merlin snarled at him and he reared backward. The warlock was shaking harder now, and let out one choked sob before Gwaine started to panic. He gripped his hair at the roots and stumbled backwards a bit. What did he do? His brain felt clogged, numb with disbelief.

"Help!" he yelled whipping around to face the way he came. Merlin let out a strangled moan and gripped the sides of his head rocking back and forth and wheezing.

"Please, somebody!" Gwaine screamed, running to his friend but backing away again when he screamed at his touch. Gwaine felt his hands begin to tremble, and he folded them behind his head in an attempt to calm himself. He couldn't leave Merlin, but what could he do?

"_Help_! I need help!" he pleaded, "I don't know what to do," he whispered to himself. Merlin let out a strangled yelp, and started hyperventilating. Gwaine felt a paralyzing fear grip him. He wasn't right for this. _Where _was Arthur?

Suddenly, he was thrown to the side, tossed away because he couldn't do anything. Arthur was kneeling in front of Merlin, telling him to breath, then shuffling to his side and putting an arm around him. Gwaine couldn't think…couldn't…Oh, God, Merlin!

Gwaine had failed him. He'd failed and been weak, a friend when things were easy, but selfish and numb with shock when it counted.

Time must have passed, because suddenly Arthur was in front of him, yelling and looking angry,

"What the _hell _were you doing?!" he shouted. Gwaine opened and closed his mouth, feeling choked and at a loss. That was just it. He hadn't done anything. When Merlin had screamed at his touch…Gwaine couldn't stand it. He wasn't strong enough. Arthur continued to yell at him, even as Leon approached from behind and tried to calm him,

"Gaius said that we have to be there! He can't do this on his own, and…You. Just. Stood there!" Gwaine felt the crushing guilt of his words, and almost fell to his knees from its weight.

"Enough!" All turned at the voice, and were surprised to see Percival, looking deadly in his calm,

"Enough," he repeated, "If we want to help Merlin, we can't be like this. Not with each other," Arthur bowed his head, though was still fuming and looking very much so like he wanted to hit something. Probably me, Gwaine thought.

Gwaine looked over at where Merlin was, and was relieved to see him calmed down and relaxed with Elyan's arm around his shoulder.

Gwaine realized something, then.

Smiling and cheerfulness weren't going to be enough. Not for Merlin. He deserved more.

Gwaine would do better, for Merlin.

He owed him that much.

…..

Arthur had only seen red. He felt bad about what he'd said to Gwaine after the fact, but at the time he thought it was completely deserved. It was, really, and even now as they walked back to camp, he felt the anger bubbling under the surface, ready to spill over at the slightest provocation. When he'd seen Merlin sitting there, crying out and completely alone, Gwaine doing _nothing_…

…Well, hence his inability to see clearly.

…

Leon kept his eyes on Merlin's back as they trudged back to their horses. The boy was extremely pale, hunched and devoid of his usual vigor. Leon hated seeing him like that. It was like the lack of warmth you feel when the sun goes behind a cloud. All you can do is wait for its return. Leon sighed quietly to himself and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. It was a good anchor. A weapon made him feel like he was still able and willing to act, to do something, _anything_. He was a knight of Camelot, for heavens' sake.

They _would _make Merlin better.

Leon had been observing the young man. After Merlin's secret had been told, Leon hadn't been all that surprised to learn about the boy's actions to protect Arthur and Camelot. He'd always been extremely loyal, and Leon had recognized a hint of…well…greatness, in his eyes, even before he revealed himself fully. Merlin was extremely powerful, wise far beyond the years of men far beyond his years, and the greatest warlock to have ever lived.

But that wasn't what Leon had paid attention to. Merlin had a capacity for forgiveness, for charity, compassion and self-sacrifice that hardly any could hope to achieve in their lifetimes. He worked hard, was modest and kind, and always bounced back into himself when he went through an ordeal. Not for his own sake, though. Merlin was a good man.

Good men didn't deserve this type of torture.

Leon's hand tightened on his sword, his jaw protested loudly as he grinded his teeth together.

He would sleep better after they made it to Mercy. That he was sure of.

...

A/N: Kay! Whew, I whipped this one up quick! :D So, I didn't enjoy it quite as much as the others, but I still like it, hope you do to! What diddya think? I realize Gwaine was a bit OOC, but I think he might have actually reacted the way he did in that position. He has some hidden insecurities, I think. He'll be more awesome and loving later, I promise! :) REVIEW please if you like this, or even if you didn't, I welcome **constructive **criticism. Hope you liked it! Thanks for your reviews and support, you guys rock! :D


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Yea, next chapter! This one was fun, I must say. :D I hope you like it. Oh, I realized I haven't really clarified where and when they are, exactly, so here goes. In this story Arthur has become king, and it's around the time that season five started, but Gwen isn't queen, and I'm sure you've gathered that they all know about Merlin's magic. I'm not sure if magic is outlawed or not, but it doesn't matter for the story, so, you know, whatever. :) Also, it has been brought to my attention that Lancelot was in the first chapter, but has been forgotten for the rest of my story. That was a sloppy mistake on my part, and I apologize. I originally intended to have Lancelot in my story, but decided to leave him dead, instead, and forgot to erase him from my draft. Sorry for him being there, I'll delete him, right away. Hopefully, he didn't make too much of an impression. Alright, on to the story. No more stalling. That's it. Here ya go! Charge!

_Emptiness. Floating in dimensionless matter, waves of pleasure and ethereal warmth. Nothing exists, but nothing. _

_But then, pain._

_Unspeakable agony overwhelming the dark, rushing and crashing, choking and bloody. Surely, this was death._

Merlin woke with a start and drenched in a cold sweat, the memory of his dream retreating slowly into the recesses of his mind, the pain inside of him reducing to a slight burn. He gripped his tunic where his hand rested on his stomach, and took deep calming breaths, despite the pain in his lungs from it. He stared into the dark treetops above, dappled bits of moonlight peering through the foliage, the sight of the light calming him. As the seconds passed, the memory of his nightmare disappeared completely, and he was left wondering at the receding terror in his mind. He started scratching his arm, feeling the need to move, to feel. Because this was the way it _should_ be. Sounds and smells and biting cold. Not the emptiness. Not the welcoming, comforting, _smothering_ nothing.

He didn't need those leaves. He _didn't_.

And even as he told himself this, he would lay awake for several more agonizing, endless hours before exhaustion took him.

He would wake with red marks in his palms from where his fingernails had pierced the flesh.

…

"Merlin?"

Merlin sighed, and resisted the urge to rub his temples,

"Yes, Gwaine?"

"I-I'm sorry?" he sounded almost embarrassed, and Merlin's irritation dissipated, if only a little,

"Gwaine, for the thousandth upon thousandth time, you didn't. Do. Anything. Wrong. Now shut your mouth before I'm forced to remove it," his voice was pleasant and light, a voice meant for tea parties and not discussions regarding drugs and hurt feelings. Gwaine laughed a sincere laugh, a sound that lightened Merlin's heavy heart considerably.

The morning air was crisp and uplifting, the patchwork sunlight illuminating the dewy fallen leaves of the forest floor. Merlin's horse snorted and tossed its head, a cloud of steamy breath billowing from its nostrils. Merlin patted its neck, and listened to the soothing, wet clip-clopping sound of its hooves on the ground. They'd woken up rather early, too early for Merlin, who hadn't slept hardly. The others didn't have to know that, though. Life was just easier without the scrutinizing stares of a bunch of very well armored, very stubborn knights boring into your back.

He breathed in deeply, an instinctual thing he did when outdoors. Unfortunately, the action must have triggered something inside, because he immediately erupted into a violent coughing fit. Pain tore through him as he gasped for breath and the taste of blood erupted into his mouth. He pulled off his neckerchief and coughed into that instead, the blood staining with the red as he gagged. Finally, it ended. Merlin cleared his throat and spat on the ground, before unclasping the water skin from his saddlebags to take a long drink. It stung his raw throat and swallowing was hard, but he didn't care.

"You okay?" Arthur asked, twisted in his saddle to look behind at his manservant. Merlin felt a small rush of anger at his question,

"I'm hacking up congealed wads of blood and phlegm. I'm just dandy," he grumbled, then immediately felt guilty. Arthur didn't look hurt, but frowned at Merlin a little as if gently scolding a temperamental child. Merlin flushed and ducked his head, not sure if he should apologize.

There was an awkward silence, for a few moments, before Gwaine, much to Merlin's relief, spoke up,

"Could you really do that?" he asked curiously. Merlin turned to his left where the long-haired knight rode,

"Do what?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Make my mouth disappear," Gwaine answered, smiling widely as if the idea tickled him to no end. Merlin smiled,

"That, or I could impair your ability to...express," he said mischievously. Gwaine frowned a bit contemplatively,

"Waxen flowers raise their jolly whatsits?" he asked. His face instantly fell at the words that had flown so proudly from his mouth. The knights' jaws dropped, and there was a split second of quiet before they all burst into laughter. Gwaine turned beet red, and huffed,

"Your foxy shoes can't touch, milady!" he cried indignantly. Merlin howled and doubled over, tears of strain pricking at his eyes. It sent waves of pain shooting through him but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to. Elyan and Leon fought to stay on their horses while Arthur's mouth stood wide open, no sound escaping as he struggled to draw in a breath. Percival was buried in the mane of his steed, massive shoulders shaking. Gwaine looked offended and shouted,

"I can't smell my nose! Make the trees stop snubbing my pink," he whined. Arthur finally managed to gasp in a breath and yelled desperately,

"Merlin! Merlin, make it stop. I-I can't _breathe_," he wheezed and fell into another fit of laughter. Merlin nodded, took a moment to compose himself, then, with a thought and quite a bit of reluctance, returned his friend to normal. Well, as normal as _Gwaine_ could be.

At least he'd been able to make his friends happy. If just for now.

…..

"Will this cover two rooms for the night, and some hot meals and baths?" Arthur thrust the bag of coins onto the bar with the flippancy of a man who'd spent far more in his lifetime. The eyes of the bartender went wide at the bulging sack, his hand tightening its hold on the dirty rag he'd been wiping the counter with. Merlin rolled his eyes at the ludicrous amount of money, knowing Arthur loved to show off by giving people more than they needed. Truly, it might have been endearing, if it weren't so idiotic. Arthur was adored by his people already; there was no need to waste perfectly good silver. Arthur smiled dashingly at the barman, and Merlin was suddenly glad that the knights were wearing armor without the Pendragon crest. It would do them good to travel without the hindrance of a bunch of screaming fangirls at their tails. The barkeep nodded, snatched the bag as if it would disappear, and said,

"Aye, that'll do, I think," Even when Arthur was in disguise, he dreamed and breathed to looks of pure adoration he would get from people when he overpaid them.

Merlin, Gwaine and Percival shared a collective look of disgust. Growing up as commoners, the three of them, they had a greater appreciation for being…frugal, with what money they could spare. Suddenly, a much larger bag of coin was thrust onto the counter, almost falling over the sides from its immenseness,

"And _I_," Gwaine said, "would love to gain acquaintance with your tap," he said. Merlin sighed with a slight smile and rubbed his forehead.

Okay, maybe Arthur _should_ carry their funds.

…

The room arrangements would be established as such: Percival, Elyon and Leon would share a room, while Gwaine, Arthur and Merlin would share the other. Merlin's stomach twisted with unease as he thought this over in his head. Just the day before, Gwaine had spent about five minutes profusely apologizing to Merlin for something that was entirely _not_ his fault. Really, Merlin had tried to get a word in to apologize himself, but Gwaine would have none of it.

But despite the reassurances and perpetual niceness on both ends, Merlin knew the truth. He felt guilty for hurting Gwaine, though he didn't remember what he'd done, exactly. All he remembered, vividly, was the mind-numbing pain and anger, and the hatred and fear he'd felt as something kept trying to get closer. He also remembered snapping back to reality with a jolt, Arthur's concerned, and somehow, furious face in front of his. Later, when the knights had been averted to talking, and Arthur had sent dozens of heated glares at Gwaine, who would not _leave _Merlin's side, the warlock had pieced together well enough on his own what had basically occurred. Again, the reality of his own shame froze his gut as Arthur opened the door to their room.

It was simple but comfortable looking. Two small beds remained next to each other at the far end of one wall to the right, while a single window and a tiny dresser and mirror took up the other. Arthur sniffed, a sound he made anytime they stayed in less than royal accommodations. It wasn't disdainful or snobbish, merely a ceremonial part of his preparation for a night as a commoner.

"Alright then," he said, "One of the beds will be mine," neither Gwaine nor Merlin argued against this. Arthur was still their king, no matter how much of a prat he was, and they weren't going to risk the wrath of an Arthur who'd had to sleep on a hard floor the whole night.

"Sounds good!" Gwaine chirped, then began bounding his way to the other bed. Arthur's hand shot out like a panther, grabbing the knight around the collar and yanking him backwards. Gwaine gasped and flailed as he was dragged back, his tongue waggling comically as he stumbled to a standstill,

"Merlin gets the other one, dolt," he said, before thrusting Gwaine away like a piece of dirty laundry. Gwaine put his hand over his heart, mock aghast,

"Arthur!" he cried, "I was just kidding," he whined. Merlin stifled a laugh and made his way over to the bed. Honestly, he would have liked to argue that he _could_ sleep on the floor and _would_. After all, it was the least he could do. But he knew that his efforts would be in vain, so he tossed his pack onto the straw mattress and decided to be happy he had one for the night. Honestly, his insides hurt constantly now, not sharply so, but an endless dull ache that he had to fight so as not to darken his mood.

He sat on the mattress, and resisted the temptation to fall asleep then and there.

He was exhausted. Unfortunately, not exhausted enough that he couldn't think. His mind roved over the past few days with sickening clarity, and he wanted to bury his face in his hands and hide from the world. He saw Gwen's tear-streaked face, and Gaius' fear-filled one. He saw Arthur's determined, concerned gaze, and his own trembling hands covered in blood. He saw Selina's hopeful smile, and a small bottle filled with harmless looking leaves. Finally, he saw Gwaine's desperate, hurt eyes. His stomach churned so stormily with guilt, he had to fight not to be sick again. He _really _didn't want a repeat of that anytime soon.

After all, the last time hadn't been all that pleasant, to say the least.

"Merlin," a voice said. Merlin snapped his head up, startled, but tried for a smile when he saw Arthur looking down at him with his arms folded and his brow drawn together. A couple seconds passed as Merlin fidgeted under Arthur's piercing stare

"I'm going to check on the horses," Arthur said suddenly, leaning his head slightly but not turning all the way towards Gwaine, who was unpacking silently at the dresser. He nodded and stuffed what suspiciously looked like a girl's petticoat into one of the drawers.

"Come on, Merlin," Arthur said, turning on his heel, and striding to the door without waiting for an answer. Merlin swallowed past the lump of fear in his throat and stood to follow. King's orders, after all.

As they made their way down the stairs and out the door, the unease in Merlin grew to unbearable heights. What did Arthur want? Merlin could only guess at the things he was thinking.

Merlin had failed.

Yes, Arthur was concerned for him, but it was like being concerned for a person who'd broken his own arm. It was Merlin's own fault. His own stupid, stupid mistake. He was supposed to be Camelot's protector, the guardian of the Herald of the New Age.

_Some protector **you** made, sick and weak and dragging your friends around miles away from their homes so you can get better. You. Have. **Failed**._

…

Arthur wasn't sure what he was going to say to Merlin. He'd seen the boy on the edge of his bed, pale and hunched, his face a mask of pain and self-pity.

All Arthur knew was that it had to stop.

_Now._

The night breeze caressed his face and ruffled his hair as they walked behind the tavern to the stables. The sound of Merlin's dragging footsteps behind him let him know that the young warlock was still there. Still there, but still not himself.

Arthur was going to fix that.

They reached the stables, and the musty smell of hay and dung assaulted them along with a warm breeze as they entered. A row of stalls took up one wall, the animals inside snorting and stamping their hooves on the ground in response to the sudden human presence. Arthur threw away any pretenses of checking up on the horses, and turned to face Merlin with what he hoped was a stern face, his arms crossing over his broad chest and his feet planted wide apart,

"That's enough," he said simply. Merlin was looking at the floor, his shoulders near his ears as if he were expecting a beating,

"What?" he asked, his voice betraying nothing but innocence, but his flickering eyes and fidgeting hands speaking differently.

"This," Arthur said, gesturing vaguely with one arm, "the guilt, the avoiding my eyes. It needs to stop," Merlin looked up, something not unlike annoyance flashing across his face. Honestly, Arthur preferred that.

"And why shouldn't I feel guilty, Arthur? Would you rather I be proud of what…of what I've done?" Arthur could see the pain in Merlin's eyes behind the anger. He wanted to erase it, attack it head on with his army at his back. Arthur softened his voice, wanting Merlin to understand,

"This isn't your fault, you id-" Merlin threw back his head and laughed a humorless, manic laugh. It sent chills up Arthur's spine.

"Not my fault! Not my fault? Look at me, Camelot's _great protector_, felled by his own craving for his burdens to be gone," at his own words, the snarl left Merlin's face, his shoulders slumped with fatigue and regret, and his breathing became quick and ragged, his voice panicky,

"I couldn't stop it, Arthur. I was-I was just so tired of it all, I couldn't _rest_," he looked down at his hands, his eyes met Arthur's pleading and bright. Arthur uncrossed his arms, and started forward, but Merlin backed away from him, still talking,

"The wisprend, it-it…I didn't have to feel anymore," his voice cracked, "Freya, Balinor, Morgana…it was as if they had never-never been. It didn't hurt anymore, Arthur. There was no more destiny, no more death…no more," he gasped in a little then, a small, broken sound, "I've failed you all,"

Arthur felt a fountain of fury rise up inside of him.

Okay, that was it.

He strode up to Merlin, and in one swift, decisive movement, whacked him upside the head with his hand.

"Oww!" Merlin cried, and reached up to rub his head. But before he could, he was swept up in Arthur's embrace. The king would have laughed if he had seen the look on Merlin's face.

"Idiot," he said, then pulled away and held Merlin by his shoulders, _making_ him listen, "Seven years of saving the kingdom hundreds of times over without one break, and because you make one stupid mistake, you think you've failed? I knew you were clueless Merlin, but not _that_ clueless. It was a bad thing you did, I'll give you that, but this is pretty much the most addictive drug in the world, and, frankly, I'm surprised you haven't resorted to outside methods for relaxation before now. That's all in the past now, it's time to _suck it up_. We have enough to deal with in the present, kay?" Merlin swallowed, and nodded, looking relieved, somehow. Arthur was glad of it. He softened his tone and looked directly into Merlin's eyes, knowing he was going to end this, here and now, "I need you to hear this, and understand, alright? This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. Geez, the only reason this happened was because you were trying to help some woman and her family. Stop feeling guilty, now. It's not good for your health, or mine. Especially, mine," Arthur smiled and Merlin laughed, a sound like music to Arthur's ears.

"Now then!" Arthur shouted, pulled his hands away and clapping them together, feeling suddenly awkward with all this _feelings_ business, "Shall we join Gwaine for some mead?" Merlin wrinkled his nose,

"I hate mead," he said. Arthur put an arm around his shoulder and began steering them both back to the tavern,

"Two for you, then!"

…

Merlin sniffed and swiped a sleeve across his nose, which was running from the cold, happy that he hadn't cried in front of Arthur. Their little "talk" truly did make him feel a bit better. He still wasn't sure that none of this was his fault, he still blamed himself, but Arthur was right. It was time to stop dwelling in the past. Meaning, last week.

As they rounded the corner of the building and saw the light spilling from the cracks of the tavern's front door onto the gravel road, Merlin stopped in his tracks at the sounds of commotion from inside, followed by an all too familiar voice yelling,

"Honestly, mate, can't we just talk this ov…OWW!"

"Hell, Gwaine," Arthur growled, and sprinted to the door, Merlin hot on his heels.

The sight that greeted them…wasn't good.

Chairs and plates flew wildly around the room, fists flew randomly as Merlin found himself, once again, in the middle of a tavern brawl.

"Princess!" a strangled, yet happy sounding voice yelled. Merlin searched through the chaos, and saw the source of the call. Gwaine's back was pinned against a table by a massive hand around his throat, which was attached to an equally massive man who might as well have been spitting fire from his eyes the way he was glaring at the knight. The rest of the knights were battling in their various conflicts throughout the room. Arthur groaned, and almost looked as angry as Gwaine's attacker,

"Gwaine, what happened?!" he yelled, then ducked, narrowly missing being clobbered by a flying mug. Gwaine wrapped his hands around the one around his throat and kicked feebly at the man choking him,

"Well, you see," he said, out of breath and struggling to free himself, "There was this petticoat…" Just then, the impact of something on the side of Merlin's head sent him sprawling to the floor. A shoe? He groaned and started to rise when, suddenly, he felt it.

Oh, no, oh, no, not here! Not _now_!

The cold was spreading, easing its easy way through his limbs and strangling his lungs,

"_Arthur_," he tried to yell, but it came out as a pained whisper. No, no, no, no, no, no, please, no not again, "_Arthur!_" he gasped, the pain exploding inside of him as he curled up, unable to speak again as he struggled not to bite his own tongue off from the convulsions. His mind succumbed to darkness, he couldn't see anymore. All he knew was the pain.

There were so many people, so _many_. They hated him, all of them, they were kicking and spitting and he couldn't breathe. One of them was grabbing at him, clawing at his clothes tearing flesh, drawing blood. No, no, let me go! Merlin struggled to fight it off, but it was lifting him. He tried to kick and scream but he couldn't move, he couldn't _breathe_! Arthur!

_No, Arthur won't help you. He **hates** you. They all do, there's no one left._

The pain was unbearable, the dark was getting worse. How could it be so _dark_? He wasn't being carried anymore, but someone was still touching him. Grabbing at him, they wouldn't let go, he couldn't cry out. _Don't touch me_!

And then the pain was gone, and there was only darkness.

...

A/N: *Evil chuckle* Oh, I'm sorry. It's just, I couldn't resist a cliffhanger, since I haven't done one in a couple chapters. I hope you can forgive me. ;) Please **REVIEW **if you enjoyed this. OK, drum roll please! DADADADADA...Hooray! I have reached almost 70 followers now, which just makes me so happy, really, you guys are great. ;D Again, reviews are so appreciated. Hope you liked it. Next chapter up soon!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry, this one took a bit longer. :) Hope you like it!

...

Arthur reared back, reducing what might have been a felling blow against him into a slight grazing on his jaw. It still hurt. His attacker was a mighty mountain of a man, the one who had been choking Gwaine. The man roared and pulled back to deliver another punch, but Arthur danced lightly out of the way as the hand fell, and watched amusedly as the man went sprawling to the floor. Arthur almost snapped his neck looking away, however, when the man's trousers fell a bit, displaying a hairy canyon of a crack.

Fighting down the rising bile, Arthur turned to make sure his companions were alright.

Just then, a strangled cry broke through the throng of noise. It was a blood curdling sound of anguish and intense pain.

Oh, no.

Merlin.

Arthur whipped around, scanning the crowd for his manservant. Why had Arthur left him alone?

"Merlin!" he cried desperately, "_Merlin_!" Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of raven hair, a weakly struggling body being dragged from the tavern into the dark by a shadowy figure.

Arthur felt a quake of something not unlike terror ripple through him. He was aware of calling for his knights on his way out the door, but the sounds of the following footsteps behind him were barely registered through the thick haze of fear that had settled over the king.

With a blast of cold wind, Arthur stumbled out into the night. Something hot and molten coursed its way through his veins, and then he was pouncing forward. Merlin was on the ground, balled up with his hands over his face, crying out and suffering bouts off bone-snapping shakes. A man stood above him, drunken with his perverse power over the young man, and was kicking him viciously, taunting Merlin and yelling obscenities, spitting and beating him.

Arthur thought he'd known what anger was. He thought he'd known what it was like to feel rage, to want to kill someone. But as he found himself on top of the man, punching him repeatedly and shouting things that normally, he wouldn't have counted morally decent to shout, he realized he'd been wrong.

He reveled in the man's warm blood on his knuckles, and rejoiced in the feel of something cracking beneath his fist.

And he knew that he'd been terribly, terribly wrong.

…_._

"Elyan!" he turned instinctively at the sound of his name, momentarily distracted from his fight. Unfortunately, the motion conveniently put his head directly into the path of his opponent's fist. Elyan went sprawling to the floor, stunned and convinced his face was now located above his back.

"Leon!" he yelled angrily as his attacker went off to pummel someone else. How humiliating. Elyan stumbled to his feet, pinching his nose, which he was certain must be bleeding. He whipped around to face the knight that had so rudely interrupted, but stopped at the look of helplessness on Leon's face. He was standing in the doorway, the only still thing amidst the chaos.

"Hurry!" Leon gasped, "We can't hold him," Elyan wanted to ask what he was talking about, but heard that strained, fatherly tone Leon used that always implied an unspoken "Merlin". This was enough to get him moving.

He strode to the door just as Leon sprinted away into the darkness, and flinched at the cold air that blasted him when he stepped outdoors.

"You dare touch him, you _bastard_!" a voice yelled from somewhere in the darkness in front of him. Elyan sprinted forward and gasped at the sight. Percival, the biggest, strongest man Elyan had ever known, was struggling futilely to keep a red-faced raging Arthur from jumping a quailing, bleeding form on the ground. Even with Leon helping him, they were barely holding the king back. Elyan had never seen such fury before, and never from Arthur. He could practically feel the anger coming off the king in hot waves. Elyan's eyes were then drawn to the second form on the ground. Oh, Elyan thought, oh, Merlin.

The servant was on the ground, shaking, and sobbing so hard he was gasping for breath. He was cradled in the embrace of Gwaine, who was rocking him back and forth and muttering soothingly, glaring so hard at the unidentified man Elyan was surprised the braggart didn't incinerate.

"_Filthy cur_!" Arthur screamed, and nearly succeeded in breaking free from his knights' holds. Elyan snapped out of his shock and rushed forward. He stopped in front of the flailing king, and lost his breath for a moment at the sight of pure, unadulterated loathing on his face.

"Arthur! Arthur, listen to me!" Elyan yelled, finally catching Arthur's eye, and trying not to cower at the snarl Arthur directed at him,

"Just-Arthur _listen_-just leave him," Elyan continued in what he hoped was a calming monotone, "He's not worth it," Arthur stopped struggling, slightly, but seemed unconvinced, sending a killing glare at the drunken, pitiful, fleshy man wallowing in the dirt,

"He-he _hit_ Merlin," if Elyan hadn't known better, he would have sworn Arthur sounded almost…vulnerable when he said that. That is, if it weren't for the teeth gnashing fury emanating off of him. Elyan took a deep breath and tried a different approach. It wouldn't do good to have Arthur beat a man to death to avenge Merlin. The young warlock was feeling bad enough as it is,

"Arthur," he said, putting his hand on the man's shoulder, "Forget him. Look at Merlin, he needs our help. Forget. Him," Something seemed to click into place in Arthur's eyes, and he turned, breathing heavily, to the sight of his now quietly weeping manservant. His shoulders slumped,

"Alright," he said quietly, though his voice was strained. Percival and Leon released his arms, but both watched him warily. Arthur looked like he was resisting the urge to give the man one final kick, but settled for a disgusted snort, instead. He crouched down by Merlin, who was still wrapped in Gwaine's arms, and gave the knight a small nod. Gwaine gently let go of Merlin, and Arthur scooted in to take his place, pulling the boy's lanky, shivering frame close. Gwaine's face took on a thoughtful look, and he looked at Arthur with pouting, puppy eyes. He pointed one finger in the direction of Merlin's attacker without looking back,

"My turn?"

Elyan sighed resignedly.

…..

Gwaine…wasn't handling things well. Sure, on the outside he was fine, as fine as fine could be, but on the inside…? Well, let's just say that they were all lucky Gwaine wasn't the all-powerful warlock in this situation. When Gwaine had seen the man hurting Merlin…it made it hard to breathe just to think about it. Needless to say, the only thing that had kept him from going all jungle-beast on the man was the fact that Merlin had needed his attention…that, and Arthur had seemed to have things handled for the moment. Now Gwaine lay on the floor of their accommodations, wrapped in his blankets and staring at the dark ceiling, unable to fall asleep whilst being too preoccupied listening intently to Merlin's somewhat ragged, but steady breaths.

Carrying the skinny warlock back to their rooms had been difficult, especially when he decided to pass out on them. His injuries weren't severe. The drunk had only had time to kick him once or twice before Arthur had, well, sort of lost it. But the fact that Merlin had been having an attack when it happened-

A sliver of light pierced the darkness as the door to their room suddenly opened inward, pulling Gwaine from his thoughts. Arthur was up and out of his bed in a second, shirtless but wielding a sword. So, the princess couldn't sleep, either, huh? Gwaine looked up, to see an immense figure silhouetted in the yellowish light,

"Percival?" Arthur whispered incredulously, lowering his sword. Gwaine's eyes adjusted to the light, and, indeed, there stood the knight, clutching a fluffy pillow to his chest and looking down embarrassedly.

"It's just," Percival said, but Gwaine had to strain to hear him, "I have nightmares, sometimes, about bad things…And, I thought that maybe Merlin…well, he was in a lot of pain…" he faded off. Arthur nodded understandingly, and Gwaine had one of those moments where he was proud to be his knight. He always was, of course, proud, that is. But it was rare he felt his heart swell.

"Find a spot to settle," Arthur said simply. Percival nodded, still looking embarrassed, than shuffled very lightly, for a man of his size, to the foot of Merlin's bed, where he lay on the floor. Gwaine smiled, then closed his eyes, feeling the weariness of the day's travel and events finally seep into his bones.

He was asleep by the time the door opened next.

"Ugh, what _now_?" he whined, disgruntled at the fact that he'd been pulled from such a lovely dream, with such lovely company in it.

"I, uh, I woke up, and Percival was gone…?" the voice of Leon rationalized lamely, but Gwaine could see the pillow in the crook of his arm. Really, Gwaine couldn't blame him. Who could sleep peaceably at a time like this when Merlin wasn't in sight? Arthur made a sighing sound from his place in the bed,

"Alright, join us, too, why don't you?" Gwaine smiled a bit as Leon found a place on the floor.

Gwaine was just about to drift off, when the door was thrust open a third time,

"Bloody hell," Gwaine cried, and pulled the blanket over his eyes. Arthur didn't wait for Elyan to say something, and simply groaned,

"Just find a place!" he said. Elyan huffed and grumbled,

"I was worried about Merlin…" he plopped to the ground somewhere to Gwaine's left, and then all was silent. The knights fell asleep to the sound of each other's breathing, crowded around the bed of their warlock.

…

Merlin woke with a jolt. His foot was buzzing crazily as if a massive weight had been lifted off of it. His whole upper torso was sore. He struggled to a sitting up position and looked around What the…? He was in one of the beds…but not alone. The knights of the round table, in all their muscular glory, lay sprawled in various uncomfortable looking positions around Merlin's bed. Percival lay curled up at the foot of it, and, Merlin guessed, had previously been on Merlin's foot, restricting the blood flow. Elyan and Gwaine lay on either side on the floor, Gwaine having kicked off his blankets and his appendages at odd angles, while Elyan was on his back with his hands folded over his chest, looking like he'd been placed there decoratively. Leon sat propped against the bottom right bed post, snoring softly into his own chest. Arthur was almost sitting on top of Elyan, his head leaned back against the mattress and mouth more than slightly agape, legs straight out in front of him and on top of Elyan. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes!" he removed the blankets and stood on the bed, before giving

Arthur swift, but gentle, kick in the head. His eyes went comically wide and he jumped,

legs flailing and kicking Elyan in the gut. Elyan gasped for air and sat up, scrabbling

around and trying to stand, but tangling himself in the blanket Merlin had discarded and

falling into Leon's lap.

"What ho?!" Leon yelped as he woke with a jolt. Percival heard the noise, and sat up calmly, looking slightly dazed and not fully awake. Gwaine made a sort of dying sound from beneath his blankets,

"Shut up!" Merlin smiled, amused. Really, if nothing else, the knights were loyal. But really, sleeping around his bed? He wasn't really that bad off the day befo-

But then he remembered…the tavern brawl, the pain.

Oh…right. Merlin tried his best not to look down, even though he knew he was turning red. He climbed to the floor, ignoring the not so slight twinge in his stomach when he did it.

"Really," he said as the knights woke up completely, and started to stand, wondering why they'd been woken up so rudely, "You're all a bunch of petty damsels," He was trying to lighten the mood, and succeeded as the knights all chuckled reluctantly. Arthur rubbed the back of his head with a wounded look on his face,

"You're the girl, _Mer_lin," he said oh-so wittily. Merlin rolled his eyes again, then tried to sound casual asking,

"So, what happened last night? Did I cause a scene?" The knights all looked away, except Arthur, who smiled a very grim smile,

"Yeah…something like that,"

….

Arthur resolved to never,_ ever_ let Merlin out of his sight again. Of course, he'd promised himself this many times before, countless times, in fact. But this time he really, truly meant it. Really.

Apparently the knights felt the same, which was probably why they were _all_ accompanying him and Merlin in gathering supplies.

Arthur was glancing frequently at his manservant, taking note of the pale pallor to his skin, the slight sheen above his brow, the slight trudging to his steps, and the faint grimace he wore when he thought no one was looking. Arthur wished there was something he could do to lessen Merlin's pain. Well, truly he wanted to obliterate it. But that would have to wait.

"Merlin?" he asked, tentatively.

"Hmm?"

"Did-did Gaius give you something, you know, for umm, umm…?" he gestured vaguely, feeling stupid, and trying to be sensitive. Merlin cocked a sidelong eyebrow at him and gave a tight smile,

"Really, Arthur. Flustered, aren't we?" Arthur scowled,

"Merlin, did Gaius give you something, for the pain?" Merlin turned his face away, but Arthur caught sight of the fear that had flashed across his features,

"No," Merlin said, "He, uh, said there was nothing he could do," Arthur felt a suffocating frustration bloom in his chest,

"Oh," he said.

Damn it, he had never felt so useless.

_Damn_ it all.

…..

"Excuse me. Boy!" Gwaine called. The young man who had been crossing the dusty main street, most likely on his way to one of the many nondescript, poor looking shops, turned at the call,

"Can I 'elp ye?" he asked, walking over, and sparing a second to take in the odd group of five chain-mailed, fierce looking men, and one thin but, truly, far more fierce warlock. Gwaine watched with amusement as he did.

"Yes, indeed you can," he said, flashing his best charming smile, that usually scored him a second helping of mead in whatever tavern or house he happened to be in…or third, or fourth. The boy grinned back, and Gwaine chuckled inwardly at the lack of teeth,

"We're in need of some supplies. Do you know where we would go to find some?" he asked. The lad bobbed his head cheerily,

"Yessir, right this way, sir!" he spun on his heel and walked briskly in his intended direction. Gwaine smiled,

"Fine lad!" he stated. The knights didn't spare him a glance as they walked forward. Gwaine frowned, and ran to catch up with them,

"Hey, now, no compliments on my astounding direction-getting skills?" he whined. Arthur turned back to him with a cocked eyebrow,

"I must say, Gwaine, it's hard to feel generous with flattery when it is your _only_ set of skills,"

Merlin snickered.

Gwaine felt a genuine smile split his face at the sound.

Feeling energized, he bounded a ways ahead of the others, his boots crunching on the gravelly road. It was going to be a good day. He just knew i-

Oh, hell.

Something had caught his eye in the narrow alleyway between two shops, and when he stopped to look…_hell_.

There, sprawled in the shadows and unmoving in puddles of what looked like blood, bile, and filth, lay at least five, ghostly, bone-skinny figures. Two of them, the lucky ones, were dead, unmoving and their eyes wide open, mouths slightly agape where blood still trickled out. The rest, however, were twitching and moaning softly, the personification of pathetic. They looked like animals. Dying, sickly, mindless animals. Gwaine felt the sour taste of sick rise in his throat, and he had to fight it down. The knights and Merlin weren't there yet, still a ways back laughing at something Elyan had said, but the boy guiding them walked up to Gwaine's side,

"Ahh, poor saps, eh?" Gwaine swallowed, unable to look away from the pitiful sight,

"What happened to them?" he croaked, though, somehow deep inside, he already knew the answer. The lad shook his head, an exaggerated sadness on his face,

"New me'cine lady passed on through. They got sick just 'efore she left. Haven't collected the body's yet, cause the one's 'r still alive won' let us near 'em. Went raving mad. But they'll be dead soon, poor wretches," he said. Gwaine felt a ball of lead lodge itself in his chest. Oh, God.

The wisprend.

The sound of Merlin's laughter filled the air, followed by racking coughs. Oh, no. No, Merlin couldn't see this. Trying not to panic, Gwaine whirled on the group of his approaching comrades and plastered on a cheery smile,

"Know what?" he said, "I think that Elyan could use a drink," Elyan frowned at him,

"What?" he demanded. Gwaine ignored him and walked over, putting one arm over Elyan and the other around Merlin, steering them in the opposite direction of the corpses and men who wished they were corpses,

"You two go on to the tavern and have yourselves some mead. You deserve it!" his voice was fake and overly jovial, even to his own ears. But he didn't care. Merlin would _not_ see. Elyan seemed to be warming to the idea a little bit, but Merlin winced,

"I hate mea-"

"Yes, I know!" Gwaine laughed, "But you'll never learn to like it if you don't drink it. Go on then. Have fun you too," He shoved them both, well, really only Elyan, forward. Elyan glared at him with suspicion, but saw something in Gwaine's eyes and nodded. He grabbed Merlin's elbow and headed in the direction of the tavern, talking lightly as they went. Merlin glanced over his shoulder in bewilderment, once, but didn't try and come back.

Gwaine allowed himself a sigh of relief.

"What was that all about?" Arthur asked from behind him. Gwaine resigned himself, and turned to the frowning king,

"There's something you need to see,"

…..

Elyan wasn't sure what it was Gwaine had seen. All he knew was that it couldn't be good. Merlin, who was no idiot, was staring contemplatively at the table in front of him, as if trying to solve some problem, and, well, Elyan guessed he was, really.

"You don't have to get mead. There's ale and water, too, you know," Elyan joked. Merlin gave him a forced smile, that looked like it had sapped his energy, and went back to studying the wood. Elyan cleared his throat uncomfortably and sipped at his mead. The air was musty and warm from the fire in the wall. The tavern was mostly empty, save for Merlin, Elyan, a few other men, and, of course, the barkeep.

Elyan hated himself for it, but he didn't like being alone with Merlin when he was…when he was like this. He cared for Merlin, of course. Really, it was hard not to if you weren't some powerful enemy of Camelot out for revenge, justice, etc. No, it was just - Elyan had always had trouble being the comfort. Nurturing and understanding weren't really his forte. That had always been Gwen. He was ashamed of it, but he'd shown his lack of propensity for tender loving care when he'd left his sister alone with their father. He was a calloused idiot, sometimes.

Which, is why he tended to clash with Merlin. Merlin was never afraid to open his heart to someone else so they could feel welcome. He wasn't afraid to get down and dirty with emotions when it counted. Elyan was no healer or caretaker, not physically or emotionally.

And here was Merlin, a man, no _boy_, whom he owed _everything_ to, and he couldn't help but feel lacking in comparison. Merlin was sick and weak and in pain. So why did Elyan feel like he was being taken care of? Because Merlin still took the time to smile at his jokes.

Because, Merlin always tried.

…..

Arthur stared grimly at the pile of mangled flesh and bone. And that was all they were, because if he thought of them as human beings than he wouldn't be able to contain the grief and shame he felt. He was the king of these people, and he was failing. His kingdom was being ravaged by a very evil thing. And it was now _inside_ of Merlin.

Arthur didn't know how wisprend had made its way into Camelot. But one thing was for certain.

This Jacob, whoever he was, was going to pay, dearly.

And Arthur was ready to collect.

A/N: Whew! That one was hard...not sure why. :) Did ya like it? Please REVIEW!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hello fellow Fanficitoners! Sorry this one took so long, but I've had a _ton_ of homework and even more writer's block, and I'm not just saying that so I hope you can forgive me. :D This is a bridge chapter. Just some shameless whump and some sadistic torturing of our beloved Merlin. ;) Enjoy!

...

"Just calm down, Merlin! Try to breathe," Arthur implored. Merlin was having trouble listening, being a bit preoccupied with the incomprehensible pain ravaging his empty lungs.

Merlin had come to the conclusion that oxygen was highly underrated. This was what he thought of as his body was racked again and again with wet, incessant coughs. He was bent over, one hand on his left thigh and the other holding a rag to his mouth to collect the escaping blood. One of Arthur's hands was on his back, the other on his chest, steadying him. Though, it did nothing for the fiery pain shooting through him with each ragged breath, or lack thereof. It was so hard to think rationally. Merlin knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Arthur was right and that he should try to calm himself down, but this is hard to do when you are struggling for each precious breath.

Merlin flicked his eyes about, searching for something to study, which was rather hard to do in the dead and dark of night. He settled on one of his ragged boots and stared at it, taking note of every crease fray and faded patch. He'd discovered recently in the past week and a half of traveling that doing this with anything nearby helped distract him from the pain, helped the panic that seized him to lessen somewhat. Suddenly, his lungs were filling with more air than before, and the relief numbed him enough that he fell to his knees. Arthur dropped with him, still rubbing his back and talking, though Merlin didn't know what he was saying. The soothing monotone to Arthur's voice calmed him further, however.

The pain faded, but didn't disappear.

Merlin was starting to doubt it ever would.

…..

Arthur flinched in sympathy as Merlin hacked and trembled, red faced and distraught from the pain. His face was pinched and sweating from where it wasn't covered by the rag, that was now spotted with red. Arthur knew he'd never heard anything sound so terrible. Through his hand on Merlin's feverishly heated chest, he could feel the rattling desperation of his every hard won breath. The boy was shaking.

Arthur wished he could take some of the pain, just… to make it lighter.

This was a longer fit than normal, and Arthur realized with a chill that Merlin's lips had turned a faint shade of blue. He tightened his hold, and pleaded for Merlin to relax.

Glory be, just let him _breathe_.

Merlin slowly began to relax, his breaths becoming more even, a bit less ragged. Arthur sighed in relief, even as Merlin fell to the ground. Arthur went down with him and rubbed his back. Merlin's eyes were slightly clouded, as if he weren't truly there at the moment, and it made Arthur sick to know that this wasn't an unfamiliar sight.

"That's it, you idiot," he found himself saying softly, not even having to think on it now, "Just breathe. Gwaine!" he called, and the knight was by him in an instant,

"Here ya go, Princess," he said, handing Arthur the water, the traditional jibe contrasting his formal tone. Arthur took it and dangled it in front of Merlin, who was wiping the blood from his mouth with the rag. He took the water wordlessly, and unstopped the cork before tilting it back and drinking some. Not a few seconds after he swallowed, a small shudder ran through him, and he was retching violently into the dirt in front of him. Arthur cursed and resisted the urge to punch something. Or strangle something.

Or _destroy _something.

…..

Leon watched wordlessly as the raven haired boy emptied the contents of his stomach, watery blood and bile and a concerning lack of substance, and dry heaved for a few moments before finally stopping and breathing deeply. Leon could see the tremor in his shoulders from his place a few yards away.

Percival and Elyan were looking away from atop their horses, a habit they had gotten into that Leon couldn't decide whether he should disapprove of. It was truly hard to watch Merlin's pain, this he could understand. But should they be afraid?

And there was Arthur, right by Merlin's side, unashamed and unabashed. Leon had never felt prouder of his king, though it sounded strange, than when he threw away his pride, or so called dignity, and knelt in the dirt with the blood and the sickness to comfort his friend. It was truly amazing.

Merlin was recovering now, standing on shaky legs and waving away Arthur's attempts to help him.

Leon had to smile at the boy's stubbornness.

He glanced around at their camp, and slumped a bit when he saw the campfire amidst their circle of bedrolls was burning their dinner. Acrid smoke rose from the pot, and Leon dashed forward to salvage what he could.

"There goes the last of the potatoes," Elyan grumbled as everyone gravitated towards their burnt supper. Merlin, who had turned a slightly green shade at, Leon guessed, the stench of the deeply charred, aforementioned spuds. Arthur strode to the pot and stared down at it gravely,

"Indeed," he said. Leon held back a chuckle and stood up from his crouch next to the fire, intending to grab an apple from his saddlebag when Merlin spoke up, his voice tinted with that faint rasp that had become the norm,

"I…think I'll go wash up a bit. Not very hungry," The knights shifted uncomfortably, but Arthur looked at his manservant directly,

"Merlin, you need to eat. You need to keep your strength u-"

"Well, there's really no point is there, _Sire_, if it's all just gonna come back up anyway, along with my _blood_," Merlin hissed out the words, his teeth bared in a type of snarl. As soon as he spoke, however, his face fell with regret and apology.

No one reacted.

Arthur didn't even blink.

It made Leon sad, and angry, to see that they had all adapted to this behavior from their friend. They all knew it wasn't Merlin's fault. It had been a week since the…incident…at the tavern, and their friend had been growing increasingly weaker in front of their eyes. He coughed and threw up often, setting their pace to a slowness that wasn't ideal.

It was like he was withering.

Leon had the thought before he could stop it, but realized it was true as soon as it passed through his mind. Merlin was thinning, paling; his eyes were sunken in and weighed down by the dark circles underneath them. He snapped at all of them a lot, sometimes immediately regretful, but sometimes bitter and peevish for hours. They had all ceased to be shocked when the boy would say something hateful, or lash out with his magic at something nearby. Leon had seen enough trees obliterated to last him a lifetime. He had nightmares, too. Terrible terrors that would send him thrashing and clawing, crying out and only waking when shaken or slapped. And of course, there were the attacks. They had become less frequent as they travelled, while everything else worsened. But when he did have them, he would recoil from, and spout out insults and obscenities to, any who tried to touch him but Arthur. He had started scratching himself once, tearing through his flesh as if he could find the pain inside of himself and kill it. They had been forced to bind his hands when that happened.

Merlin had woken up confused as to why he was tied up.

He seemed to remember little of his attacks, but enough so that he was ducking his head and refusing to speak for awhile afterwards. None of them blamed Merlin for anything he did or said at those times and in-between. He wasn't himself.

The knights all took it in stride. They knew it was the wisprend, poisoning Merlin, _hurting_ him. It was hard to watch.

Leon realized that an awkward silence had passed while he had been thinking, and sounded out,

"I think I'll go with him, sire," Arthur looked at him, "I'm feeling a bit travel worn, myself," Merlin looked at him gratefully, and Arthur nodded, if a bit reluctantly,

"Right then," he said, and turned to Gwaine, who was watching silently a few paces away, "You're making dinner,"

Leon listened to the sounds of the knight's loud complaints as he and Merlin headed to the stream. It took a long time for them fade completely.

…..

Merlin felt a tremor run up his torso as he submerged himself waist deep in the creek. It flowed gently over him, soaking through his pants. The smell of the wet mud and the sound of the water running over the rocks comforted him. He cupped his hands underneath the surface and brought them up to splash his face. He shivered as the icy tendrils snaked down his neck and onto his bare back and chest. He ran his wet fingers through his hair and scrubbed his face a little. It felt good to be clean. He heard Leon doing much the same as he at a deeper part a few feet away.

Merlin sighed soundlessly and searched for something to say. This had become regular for him, he realized with a twinge, struggling for conversation. After any angry fit or attack, he'd try desperately to think of something to say. Some joke or topic of conversation that would make things seem normal, again.

He didn't know what caused the bouts of fury and pessimism. He was like a wound nerve, the smallest provocation was all it took for him to lash out. He knew the knights weren't mad at him for it, of course. They never once said anything terrible back.

That didn't make him feel any less guilty.

That was his life now: guilt, anger, pain, and a spark of hope.

He hoped they'd make it to Mercy soon. If not for his sake, than for the knights'. They shouldn't have to deal with this.

Merlin splashed his face again, but spluttered and coughed when a metallic taste filled his mouth. He glared down at his hands and felt a flash of fear rake up his spine.

"No, no, no, no, no…" he muttered over and over. It couldn't be real. It _couldn't_.

The water was no longer water. He stood in a river of thick, swirling blood. His hands were smeared with crimson. It was in his hair and on his face, drying and soaking through his skin, dripping from his fingertips and lips. It was his blood. It was _everywhere_.

"No! No, no, no, no, no, stop…stop!" he started to shake, a smothering panic settling over him like a cold blanket. He swiped at his face, but it wouldn't come off. The darkness was coming, the blood was rising, at his chest, his neck.

He tried to scream but the blood filled his mouth. Choking him, drowning him. He kicked and flailed and struggled to see which way was up but he couldn't.

Then hands were grabbing at him. Tugging his clothes and yanking his hair.

Oh, God, he was _drowning_.

….

You're a good friend, Merlin. You're suffering so much, but you've been so strong. We'll find the cure, we'll make you better. I want you to know I'm here for you.

Yes, Leon thought, up to his chest in water as he washed some of the grime of their journey out of his hair, yes, that's what I should say. He glanced over and saw Merlin washing up. He'd lost weight, a slight, erratic stubble peppered his cheeks. Leon realized that Merlin still might have some growing to do until he could have beard without trouble. He was still just a boy. A boy who conquered sorcerers, commanded dragons, killed magical beasts.

But he was still just a boy. Who was very sick and in pain. Leon could see he was uncomfortable and embarrassed.

And he still took the time to worry about his friends' feelings.

It was…humbling. In so many ways.

Leon realized he was staring, and turned away. He didn't want Merlin to think he was being judgmental. If anyone deserved some grace, it was him.

Leon went back to washing, relishing in the cool water rushing over him.

Letting the beautiful atmosphere lull him into a sense of security, he submerged himself completely in the water, shocking his body as his head went under. He held his breath for as long as he could, eyes open in the water to gaze at the underwater foliage, then swiftly kicked his legs and broke the surface. He gasped as the air hit his face, and took a few deep, even breaths.

But then, he heard it.

Whipping around in alarm, Leon felt his heart freeze as he saw the screaming, kicking form of Merlin several yards away. He was spluttering, wildly struggling for air.

And then, he sank.

Leon rushed forward, moving like a man possessed.

"Merlin!" he cried.

It seemed like an eternity but he finally reach the drop off where Merlin had sunken. He took one moment to draw in a deep breath, then dived under.

It wasn't long before his arms were around the twisting panicked warlock. There was something wrong with him. He was fighting Leon, pushing and punching him away. He was going to drown if he didn't stop.

Leon would have none of it.

With a strength that should have been physically impossible underwater, Leon punched Merlin in the jaw, stunning him. He stopped struggling.

Lungs aching, Leon wrapped one arm around the boy's torso and, somehow managing to keep calm, waited a moment until his feet had hit the river bed. He then sprang off the bottom and kicked rapidly while using his free arm to push at the water. Black spots prickled his vision, but he kept going. Almost there. Almost there.

Finally, sweet oxygen filled his lungs as they emerged from the water. Leon didn't stop, though. He swam, dragging Merlin with him, until he could walk, and even then he kept going until he'd pulled Merlin out of the river.

Shivering from the cold, he knelt by the warlock, who was retching water and sick onto the ground next to him. Leon put one hand on his shoulder and breathed deeply, weak with relief.

"Merlin," he paused to catch his breath, "are you alright?" The boy had finished emptying his stomach, and began ranting between quick gasps,

"There was blood Leon. It was everywhere! It wouldn't come _off_. It was strangling…I couldn't…I c-can't…" Leon gathered Merlin up and rubbed his arms vigorously, trying not to think about the bone snapping shakes rushing through him,

"Shh, Merlin, it's okay. You're okay,"

Leon didn't quite believe his own words.

….

"Maybe you should let it sit, for a minute," Arthur suggested helpfully, sprawled out on his bedroll and watching amusedly as Gwaine struggled with their dinner. Gwaine glared at him and continued stirring the pot, even going so far as to stick out his tongue,

"Don't pretend you have any idea how to cook, your _majesty_," he grumbled at the highly obnoxious king, then pointed at him with the dirty spoon, "You did this to me," he said vengefully with a voice that promised a further exploration of the uses of eggs and pillowcases.

Arthur just smiled and leaned back to stare at the treetops above. The air had a slight chill, which was not unpleasant in his opinion. He laced his hands behind his head, and let the tension in his shoulders leak out of him for the first time that day. Elyan and Percival were discussing women a few paces away. Percival thought that girls preferred bouquets of wildflowers, but Elyan thought that they'd rather have clothing. Percival argued that flowers showed more humility, Elyan argued that Percival was a dunderhead, Percival-

Their conversation suddenly stopped, and Gwaine's voice broke through the peaceful silence,

"Holy hell, Merlin!" Arthur was on his feet in an instant, whirling around to see what was wrong.

Leon was staggering through the trees, struggling to hold aloft the almost limp form of Merlin. They both shivered, soaked through except for their dry shirts, which Arthur guessed they hadn't worn in the river.

Merlin's face was stark white, his eyes haunted. Arthur felt a lump of fear rise in his throat. He rushed forward and put Merlin's other arm around his shoulder, aiding Leon in keeping the boy from falling.

"What happened? Did he have an attack?" Unbidden images of an agonized Merlin struggling to breathe but unable to move, trapped underneath the water, ran through Arthur's mind.

He had to hold back an almost inhuman growl.

They set Merlin down by the fire. Percival threw a blanket around him and Gwaine and Elyan sat beside the warlock to lend him their warmth. Merlin didn't seem to notice. He stared into the flames, expressionless and unmoving, except for the visible trembling, and the glint of terror in his eyes. Arthur had seen that before, in the eyes of men who'd just returned from battle, or imprisonment.

It was the look of a man who'd seen more than life had bargained.

Leon shook his head belatedly at Arthur's question, his face pinched with worry from what he'd seen.

Arthur didn't like that look.

Knowing something different must have happened, Arthur gestured with a flick of his head to indicate they should speak in private. Leon nodded, and they both stepped away from the others.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked, once they were out of hearing distance of the group. He kept one eye on Merlin as he spoke. The warlock was now eating some stew from a bowl, the shaking stopped but his eyes still pointedly avoiding everyone else's. He looked so…small.

Arthur frowned and turned back to Leon, suddenly angry and fighting the urge to scream, "What the _hell_ happened?"

…

Arthur lay staring up at the patches of the night sky through the trees. He tapped on finger absentmindedly against the dirt, the other cradling the back of his head.

Leon's story played through his head over and over again.

Merlin had hallucinated. He was seeing things that weren't there. It made Arthur's stomach roil…but with what? Guilt, anger? Probably both. Probably a lot of both.

He listened intently to the sound of his Merlin's breathing. It was easy to identify because of how unhealthy it sounded, like he was breathing through a mask of wet sand. It hurt to listen to, but Arthur did.

He was afraid that if he didn't, it would stop.

Taking a shaky breath he rolled over, watching the shallow rise and fall of his manservant's chest. Merlin groaned and dug his fingers into the ground beneath him, a crease materializing between his brows.

Arthur watched and felt the familiar surge of _wrong_ stampede through him. Why did this happen to _Merlin_, of all people? Merlin spent his days working, protecting, serving, and joking to make Arthur feel better when he thought _his_ burdens were too heavy.

The injustice of it was like a hot poker to Arthur's chest.

He wondered absently what the boy was dreaming about. His mind flitted back to what Leon had said about Merlin seeing blood. And then he thought of what Gwaine had said their guide in that town had told him.

That those victims of wisprend had gone raving mad.

No, Arthur thought, clenching his fists. That was _not_ going to happen. Not while he still lived and breathed, would that happen to Merlin. Even then, he was sure there was some influence he could take advantage of in the other life.

As Merlin pushed his fingernails farther into the dirt, Arthur was reminded of the worst attack he'd had. Two days ago.

"_Merlin! Merlin, stop, you're going to hurt yourself! Elyan grab the rope. Merlin listen-listen to me, I'm right here. This isn't going to help you. Merlin, please!"_

Arthur shut his eyes at the painful memory.

Merlin still had scratches from where he'd tried to tear himself apart. He still had raw skin on his wrist from where Arthur had been forced to tie his hands.

He still had the pain from where he'd slammed his own head again and again on the ground, clutching himself and wailing.

Arthur reached over without thinking, and touched one hand against Merlin's arm, gripping the sleeve so hard his knuckles whitened,

"I promise you, Merlin," he said quietly, "I'll fix this,"

...

A/N: Oh, I am a terrible human being aren't I. Merlin just never gets a break. Not much of a furthering of the plot in this chapter, just wanted to portray some pain and suffering. :) I promise, more humor and plot stuff next chapter. They'll get to Mercy real soon. And then we're in for some real fun. *evil chuckle* Please, please, please **REVIEW **if you liked this. It's seriously like pouring water on a hot burn for me. ;) Hope you enjoyed it! Thank you all so much for your support. :D


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Okay! Next chapter. :D Percival's POV, some whump, some fluff. Hope you enjoy!

Meanwhile, back in Camelot…

Gwen lost her self-control at exactly fifteen minutes after noon, almost two weeks after the knights had left. After Arthur had left. After Merlin was given three weeks to live. Considering everything, she supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Presently, she sat in the dark, alone in the armory with her knees to her chest, crying into her skirt. There was no one there to comfort her, no one to hold her tight and tell her things would be okay. But she was glad of it, in a way. She needed some time to let herself be miserable. Gwen knew she was strong, she'd known that even before she was captured by brutal men, banished by her lover. She'd known it, even before Merlin came, and told her she was. Deep down. But the past two weeks had been a living nightmare.

Everyday, she was asked by people, "Where's Merlin?" She would smile and tell them he went to Ealdor to be with his ill mother. She'd try to cover up for Arthur, too, saying that he had to leave on an urgent mission, whenever she heard people gossiping about it. She wondered if her smiles and explanations looked and sounded as fake as they felt. Probably, her brain supplied.

The sobs racked her body for a few more moments, until they reduced to mere hiccups. It felt good to cry. Two weeks of absolute torture, not knowing who of the people she cared about most were still alive. Everyday, her mind was bombarded with images of Merlin's pale skin, his widened eyes. She remembered seeing the pain he'd felt. And Gaius had said it would only get worse.

Gwen had wanted to leave with them. She'd wanted to be there, to do _something_. She was Merlin's friend, and Merlin was her best friend. The one time he might really need her, and she was stuck here fabricating stories, not knowing what he was suffering through as she did.

She knew Arthur and the knights would do their best to be there for him. But they were men, and tended to handle emotions like they're hot rocks. Gwen didn't like doubting them as she was, but it was like your world might be falling apart, but it's leagues away from you so you won't know for sure. She felt like she was being torn apart with worry and guilt and fear and…it was absolute _torture_.

Getting a hold of herself, Gwen finally stopped crying. She stretched her legs out slowly, which were no stiff from disuse. Her knees were soaked through where she'd been weeping into them. Sniffing, she tottered to her feet, feeling like an old hag and guessing she probably looked like one. She hadn't slept much in the past two weeks. Two weeks that might as well have been two centuries. Needless to say, her appearance was a bit less _pleasing_ than she would have liked.

Steeling herself she swiped her eyes and dabbed her nose with the corner of her apron, and strode out of the armory, pulling her shoulders back and trying not to like she was being murdered slowly by her own anxiety.

Hang in there, Merlin, she prayed, just hang in there. I can't lose you.

….

Merlin gritted his teeth and squeezed the reins of his horse so hard he supposed he must have cut off circulation to his fingers. Each jostle of the mount sent waves of fresh pain through Merlin's torso. What had a week ago been a dull ache in his gut and chest was now a constant, sharp panging. When he coughed or threw up, it felt like a thousand hot pokers stabbing him from the inside. Sometimes, he fainted from it. Most of the time, he wasn't so lucky.

He knew he was learning a new kind of endurance. He'd felt pain before, of course, but this was different. It was always,_ always_ there. He occupied himself from it by counting things, trees or pinecones or whatever happened to be there at the moment. He catalogued different species of plants or animals, or asked aimless questions of his friends and tried to focus on their purposefully long-winded answers. Gwaine was talking now, about his childhood, and Merlin listened intently to every lilting note of his speech, every slurred letter, anything to take his mind off what was so noisily going on inside of him. The brutal, slow destruction of anything that happened to be vitally important to his body's functioning.

"So, when I was three years old, my mother finally told me that I had abnormally large pinky toes. As a testament to this, you can see my boots must be tailored so as to accommodate them. Luckily, I was never teased because of this for the first ten years of my life. But then I met Jessie Clearwaters, who beat me up for my swollen appendages. Don't ask me whether this fat vagabond was a boy or a girl, because I never did find out. I would guess, girl, perhaps, considering how she tended to wink at me after every brawl. Was quite disturbing, I might add. Now, back to my toes. When I turned twelve, and I was a handsome lad, mind you, I-"

"Gwaine!" Arthur cried from his place in the front of the group, "I never thought I'd say this, but I would much rather prefer your tavern jokes to this," The knights all mumbled in agreement, who had been listening to Gwaine's life story for the past hour and a half. Merlin couldn't even remember now what he'd asked to set him off.

Gwaine looked affronted, and sputtered,

"I'll have you know that I have had very many fascinating experiences!" Elyan grumbled from somewhere behind Merlin,

"Then why don't you write it all down, and we'll get back to you?" he said. Merlin resisted the urge to laugh, because he knew it would hurt.

The knights all laughed at Elyan's comment, and Gwaine tossed his hair dismissively,

"Maybe I will. My own autobiography," he smiled, as if warming to the idea.

"It can be called…" he mused.

"The Gallant Tales of Sir Drinksalot?" Arthur suggested, "Or how about, the Riveting Adventures of the Curly Knight?" Gwaine grinned cheekily,

"And yours, sire: Princess Prat and the Fifty Sword Strokes to Stupidity,"

Merlin was starting to only half listen to their prattle, because he was starting to feel chilly. It wasn't the biting cold he felt when he had attacks. He was beginning to hope those were completely over with, since he hadn't had one in a couple days. It had been two, since the bloody river. He knew now that he'd imagined it, against his own will, of course, but still a product of his own mind. He'd had a few more hallucinations since then, small things that he didn't mention, but he knew the others noticed.

He guessed he must show his surprise in some way when a tree would randomly grow a face, or when his horse would decide to spout worms from its nostrils. Merlin had trouble keeping calm in these instances. A panicky, irrational feeling would envelope him. They were only passing images, though, gone in a fleeting second. They never lasted long enough for him to really react. Except, to jump, as his heart skipped a beat.

Through the pain and his mind playing tricks on him, all he could do was clench up and bear it. Arthur said they would reach Mercy by tomorrow.

Merlin sincerely hoped that this was as good a thing as he hoped. Despite the fact that Mercy held the key to his survival, supposedly, there still seemed to be this looming ominous feeling.

The landscape had been changing as they went, and Merlin guessed this might have something to do with it. Things had just gotten a bit dryer and less forested. It seemed more open, more vulnerable. It was hot, also.

Which was why Merlin was slightly confused by the slight chill steadily creeping up his arms.

Trying not to draw to much attention to himself as the knights continued their banter, he bent over and untied his cloak from its place tethered to the horse's saddle, and threw it on, trying not to move too suddenly so as not to upset his barely holding on stomach.

The knights continued to talk, but it was with a slight jolt that Merlin realized their voices sounded oddly muffled, and were continuing to get quieter and quieter. Merlin stretched his jaw, thinking his ears needed to pop, but nothing happened.

A sharp uneasiness took root inside of him. And he turned to see if the knights were simply whispering.

They weren't there.

The uneasiness turned to panic as Merlin whipped around in his saddle, scanning the surrounding area in search of his friends. Where were they?

Faster than was probably good for him, Merlin leapt from his horse onto the ground, and called out,

"Arthur?" his voice echoed strangely, as if he were in a cavern, his words repeating back to him mockingly.

The chill was intensifying, and raw fear seized Merlin as the world around him began to change.

The trees and shrubs seemed to thin and lose their dimension, the color was leeched from everything, an icy gray blue replacing the greens and browns. The ground seemed to start leaking, oozing bits disappearing into an endless darkness, strands of matter unraveling and falling into the abyss.

Merlin was having trouble breathing, panic seizing him in place, or maybe something else. Whatever it was, he couldn't get his feet to move.

"Arthur? Arthur!" he yelled, but no one answered. There were whispers now, inside him and by him, saying hateful, dark things, and intensifying the pain, "Please, someone!"

His horse was gone now too. He was there by himself. And the echo of his cry was endless, his own desperate pleas hammering him into the ground as he clutched the sides of his head.

_There's no one there for you. They're all gone. You made them hate you. **You did this.**_

And then…something else appeared, out of the dark and the cold. A phantom, living chill smothered Merlin. And he screamed.

"No, no! It _can't_ be real," he fell to the ground, trembling and staring. There, appeared in front of him from all his worst nightmares, lay two broken bodies.

"_Freya_, _Will_," he whispered. And it was them. It had to be. They lay sprawled on the dirt, blood soaking through the ratty clothes resting on their ashen bodies. They stared, unseeing, with ghostly pale eyes filled with unshed tears, straight at Merlin, their faces permanently locked in grotesque expressions of terror and pain as if forever trapped in the moment that they died. Died because of him. A cry of anguish tore from Merlin's throat, a sound that shouldn't have been real.

The whispers intensified, growing louder and more condemning. This is your fault. It's all your fault, you did this. You made them suffer. The cold deepened, soaking into his bones and stirring up the pain inside until it became almost unbearable. And he knew he deserved it. All of it.

Merlin clutched at his head and almost tore some of the hair out as he rocked back and forth,

"No,"

And then there were more bodies: Gwaine and Leon and Elyan, and Percival. Gaius, Gwen…and Arthur. And they all stared at him, dead and anguished and bleeding and still crying, still begging him to save them, asking why he didn't.

"No. Stop!"

And then Arthur was in front of him, gray faced and refused the peace of decay,

"_Merlin_," Arthur rasped, his voice thin with eternal pain and bewilderment.

Merlin was being torn apart, ripped to shreds from the inside out. And then Arthur's body reached forward, and grabbed his wrist, and Merlin couldn't pull away from the biting cold and pain and guilt. And Arthur's blood was cold.

"_NO_!"

….

"Merlin," Arthur said, grabbing at the flailing boy's wrists in desperation, "Merlin, it's okay. It's not real, you're _okay_!" Merlin must not have heard him. At Arthur's touch, his eyes widened in absolute terror and he struggled to pull away, screaming and kicking wildly. They were both on the ground, Arthur crouched in front of Merlin as Elyan held him from behind around the torso, and Gwaine, Percival and Elyan stood off to the side because there was nothing they could do to help. Merlin was having some kind of terrible hallucination. Terrible, to say the least.

He'd descended from his horse, suddenly, and called out as if he couldn't see any of them. Arthur had felt his heart try to claw its way out of his chest as Merlin called his name desperately. And even as they tried to snap Merlin out of it, shaking his shoulders and such, he'd made a horrible sound of pure sorrow and torment, and sank to his knees in the dirt, whispering something that Arthur didn't quite catch.

Any color had left his face, and wretched emotions of suffering and misery and agony had passed across his face, despite Arthur and the knight's fruitless, desperate attempts to wake him up. He'd grabbed at his head and shook and rocked back and forth and looked like everything that he was being tortured.

Arthur felt nothing less than a complete and utter failure. The helplessness was like a beating. A beating with a spiked mace.

Or an axe.

Arthur wondered briefly which one would hurt more, and which one he should purchase when they reached Mercy. Which one would best be suited for his meeting with Jacob?

And then, Merlin screamed,

"_NO!_" the wrenching sound was like a white hot dagger in Arthur's chest.

Okay, that was bloody good enough.

Though it pained him to no end doing it, Arthur reared back one arm slightly, and slapped Merlin hard enough the boy's neck snapped sideways.

There were a few breathless moments of shock and anticipation. The sound of Arthur's strike seemed to ring in everyone's ears.

Merlin, still held by Elyan, turned back, the fog seeping away from his eyes, and a look of astonishment and pure relief on his face.

He then promptly closed his eyes and passed out.

Arthur sighed. Good.

Okay, he decided, an axe. A slightly dull axe, with hooked barbs.

And on _fire_.

…

Percival watched the boy thrash and scream like a wild animal as their king tried to bring him back to reality. Percival used to think _his_ nightmares were painful, memories of his family in pain rushing through his mind against his will. But from the look on Merlin's face, those were a picnic compared to whatever he was going through.

The fact of the matter was that this realization made Percival's skin crawl.

But it also made his blood boil, his gut swirl with rage, and his grip on the hilt of his sword so strong he was afraid he might break it.

It was when it made an ominous cracking sound, that he managed to let it go.

Suddenly, a resounding smacking sound reverberated through the air. Percival felt his jaw drop as he saw his king's outstretched arm. He had hit Merlin

He had _hit _Merlin!

Percival felt an irrational anger leap to life inside of him, and he almost strode forward to-to…to do _something_, but then Gwaine's hand was on his shoulder. Percival watched as Merlin suddenly became aware, again, and then fainted. Thankfully. Percival felt an ashamed blush creep up his neck. Of course Arthur had only been doing it to help.

Said king seemed to slump with fatigue, and rubbed his forehead for a second. Percival could see the lines of stress and worry there, and empathized with the man.

Percival was not a very affectionate person. He knew his friendship was hard to win, completely. He knew he came off as gruff, and sometimes, even simple to people who knew him little. But once someone became Percival's friend, there was this strange, protective loyalty that he tended to fall into at times.

Merlin, was often subject to this.

Percival was jolted from his thoughts, as Arthur spoke, filling the silence that had been hanging unsurely for the past minute or so,

"We need to set up camp. Elyan, go gather wood. Percival, set out our bed rolls. And Leon, don't forget-"

"Hang on there, Princess," Gwaine spoke this time. And his voice was uncharacteristically…gentle, somehow, "I don't know about you, but I'm filthy. Having a quick wash sounds good," he gestured vaguely at his state of dress, and then pointed accusingly, "And Elyan stinks,"

"Oi!"

Arthur frowned wearily, contemplating, and then nodded,

"Alright. But quickly," his gaze then softened a bit, almost dreamily, "Being semi-clean will be nice," he stood, and then looked down at the prone form of his manservant, with an almost tenderness around the eyes, before turning to the others, "Someone has to stay with Merlin,"

Percival saw Leon start to step forward, but found his mouth moving of its own accord,

"I'll stay," Arthur raised his eyebrows in puzzlement, but Percival didn't wait for questions.

This time without any misgivings, Percival walked forward, and wordlessly slipped his arms under the warlock, lifting him with ease. With far _too _much ease. Percival fought not to gasp at how _light _the boy was.

He was careful to be gentle as he walked over to a spot where he could make a fire, and lay the boy down. He was so small, to Percival. He was all thin bones and too big clothes.

He looked so…breakable.

Percival listened to the retreating footsteps of his comrades, and began gathering some kindling for a fire.

Merlin was shivering slightly, and Percival was determined to end that within the next half hour or so.

…..

Percival watched the ashen bit of his stick crumble off and fall into the fire as he stoked it. He wasn't really concerned with the fire, though. Despite his mind telling him it was silly, he found his gaze resting on the raven-haired warlock bundled up in Percival's cloak near the fire a few feet from him. The other knights weren't back yet, but it had only been around twenty minutes and Percival didn't mind. It was quieter without them, and quiet meant a better chance of hearing danger from afar.

He jumped a bit when Merlin suddenly moaned and shifted in his sleep, and wondered when he had become such a mother hen.

Percival was a naturally protective person. He would give up his life for any one of his friends, and would fight alongside them to the end. But he had a natural camaraderie with him. They were knights, like him. Men who lived simply, who ate and drank and fought and told stories of battles that had most likely never actually happened. Percival had granted them his friendship, and that was how he'd always known how to make friends. Percival never made an ally, or got close to someone without knowing it.

That is, he thought he did. But then, there had been Merlin.

The gawky young man had somehow managed to weasel his way into Percival's heart without his consent. This was disconcerting, but Percival couldn't bring himself to complain. He'd never met someone so genuine as Merlin. The boy puzzled him. Merlin had been kind to Percival from the very start, smiling and joking with him despite Percival's own indifference. Percival shielded himself because he knew that people had ulterior motives. Everyone had their own agenda, and a real friendship was built upon years of slow steps taken.

Merlin was the exception.

He was naturally accepting, instinctively inclined to find the good in anybody. He'd met Percival and was bright and witty and kind and so completely _unguarded_ that Percival knew he could get close to that boy and hurt him so easily, without hardly even trying.

Maybe that was it. The fact that Merlin had trusted him. Had put his faith in Percival, and trusted that he wouldn't hurt him. He gave Percival the opportunity to be noble, with disregard to the risks this put upon himself.

Percival had decided not to squander this chance.

He started again as Merlin made another groan, and then opened his eyes blearily. Percival tried for a smile, but knew it hadn't worked out so well. Merlin pushed himself tiredly off of the ground, and settled into a seated position, looking above all things like he'd just woken from a nightmare. He didn't take notice of the cloak, and it slipped off of his hunched shoulders into the dirt. Percival couldn't quite bring himself to care, as he was too busy trying to watch Merlin intently without being too obvious about it. He supposed he must be failing.

And then something strange happened. Merlin drew his knees to his chest, and stared into the flames of the fire, and the look of terrified reflection in his eyes reminded Percival so much of himself that he caught his breath,

"Merlin…" he began, sure that the boy must be remembering whatever he had_ seen_ earlier.

Merlin refused to look at him, but the pointedly avoiding eyes were now filling with unshed tears, flicking about wildly. Percival felt his heart wrench, and only hesitated a moment before quietly shimmying his way over to sit by the young warlock. Without a word, this time, he put one arm about the boy's shoulders, and pulled him a bit closer. At any other time he might have been embarrassed. With anyone else, he would have let them have their privacy, and would have been too afraid to act.

But this was Merlin, who'd trusted him to be noble. And so, as the lad seemed to collapse against his will into Percival's embrace, and began softly weeping for the first time while coherent, Percival was completely unashamed.

Because Merlin had earned so much more than Percival's friendliness.

He'd earned his love. And Percival was determined to give as much back as he'd gotten.

A/N: Theeere ya go! Okay, Okay, I know it's taken awhile, but I promise. Next chapter, they reach Mercy! DUNHDUNHDUNH! Please **REVIEW! **


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Okay, this was a bit off a toughy. It's a bit shorter than normal, but I kinda had to, so I hope you like it. Oh! And just a message to one of my anonymous reviewers, who brought up something I think I should clarify:

Reply to Natcel: Thank you for all your lovely words and support. You rock! And, just so everyone knows, I am, indeed, very much so a Madame. I am a girl, a female, member of the gentler sex. Please, no one forget this.

Okay, now that that's out of the way, onto the story!

...

Arthur wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected of Mercy. The way Gaius had described it, he supposed he had been prepared for perpetually dark, rugged buildings and streets, and a shady, devious population. This, he could deal with. Cloaked figures in the night, that was good. That wasn't completely an unfamiliar sight in Camelot. Instead, what he saw was something entirely different.

He almost wished it was the way he had imagined it originally.

It had been Merlin's idea to leave the horses behind in the woods, for safekeeping. Arthur had agreed, but now sincerely wished he hadn't. It would have been nice to be _above_ all of this. As he, Merlin, and the knights strode through the sandstone archway gate leading into the city, Arthur was immediately assaulted with a complicated, overwhelming myriad of sensations.

He saw, smelled, heard and touched everything around him with a feeling of slight bafflement, and more than a little bit of trepidation. The city was large and bustling, extremely tall sandstone buildings towering of the gravel dusty streets, and people could be seen hanging from the windows, yelling at the folks below, or throwing something on them and being yelled at, instead. The scent of strange, foreign spices and meats and wares and the sound of dozens of voices upon dozens of horses' whinnies hit him like a hot wind…along with an actual, you know, hot wind.

What really surprised Arthur was how _chaotic_ everything seemed. And he shuddered to think what it was like during the nighttime in such a place. Filthy, gleeful children pranced through the streets, chasing after dogs and each other. Donkeys and horses were led through the maze of stalls with overzealous vendors calling out in booming voices the amazing prices and quality products they selled. Many of the men strolled around in curled tip shoes and puffed sleeves; and some of the women just decided clothes were overrated and strode about with displayed bellies and legs. It was all red, glimmering lace and black corsets.

Arthur, having been raised a gentleman, averted his eyes.

Gwaine was not so bashful,

"This is amazing!" he cried with glee, eyeballing a passing girl who winked at him in turn.

Arthur, annoyed, grabbed his knight by the back of the shirt and hauled him closer,

"Remember, _Gwaine_, we are here for a reason," he hissed. Gwaine looked affronted, and squirmed from his grip,

"'Ey, I know that, Princess! Nothing wrong with looking, though, right?" he turned hopefully towards Elyan and Percival, but both were conveniently looking in the opposite direction, "Leon?" Gwaine tried again, but Arthur looked to see that the man was staring with disgusting fascination at one of the salesmen who seemed to be chopping some kind of two headed fish. Arthur wrinkled his nose, and, habitually, this having accumulated in his neck like an odd tick of sorts at some point in the past two weeks, he found himself searching for the form of his manservant.

Merlin stood next to Gwaine, looking sort of pale and detached, his eyes a bit clouded. His clothes hung off him more loosely than normal, and Arthur knew that it would be easier to spot him in a crowd, now, for the fact he was like a luminescent beacon with a black cap. One hand rested across his stomach, as per usual these days, as if in a protective gesture, or a way to encase the pain. Arthur frowned at the sight. However, he felt a swell of pride to see that Merlin's shoulders were still pulled back, his face still set like stone.

He hadn't given up yet. And this made it all seem that much better.

Feeling a sudden urgency for action, Arthur clapped his hands together to get all of their attention. The shocked stupor they'd all fallen into was gone, and Arthur spoke as they turned to him,

"Alright, then. If we're going to find this Jacob, we're going to need to find the right people. Does anyone know a place where the vilest, most underhand wretches might congregate," as one, the entire group turned to face a very bewildered looking Gwaine,

"Oi!" he cried, "Now, that's not fair, why are you all looking at me?" Arthur cocked an eyebrow, as Merlin tried to conceal a smile behind his hand,

"Really, Gwaine, need you ask?" he said. Gwaine frowned at him and Arthur supposed he was resisting the urge to stick out his tongue,

"We could try the tavern, I guess. And maybe ask some of these stall owners," he mumbled almost indiscernibly after several seconds of silence. Arthur nodded,

"Thank you," he said, "Tavern second, stalls first," the knights all nodded, and though it took a moment of mental preparation like before you jump into a cold lake, they all lined up and took one unanimous step forward and began walking.

Albeit, a bit slowly.

…..

"Psst. Hey!" Merlin hadn't really been focusing, but he knew right away that the small, eager voice was directed at him. Stopping in his tracks, and turning around in a whirl of confusion, he felt his eyes widen, and then immediately searched for something more interesting to look at. But he knew this was probably impossible.

A young girl, no more than maybe seventeen, stood behind a thin veil of white cloth hanging from a line in front of a building. She was surrounded by baskets and boxes filled with fruit and chocolates and beads. But this wasn't what was interesting, and more than a little disarming about the sight. The girl was naked.

Of course, Merlin couldn't see anything, per say. But the sun was shining from behind her, and the curves of her waist, hips and breasts were silhouetted with surprising, terrifying clarity. She was beautiful with a prominent nose and smooth, walnut colored skin. Her eyes were deep chocolate brown and the light played in the folds of her curling ebony hair. She waggled her eyebrows, and bit her bottom lip, looking like all the world that she was as innocent as a child picking flowers,

"Hey, there," she said in a light, playful voice.

Merlin literally felt himself take leave of his senses. A hot blush rose up his neck and spread to his ears and cheeks and he tried to speak but ended up just flapping his lips like a stranded fish,

"I-I-I-uh…" he said. The girl giggled, a bell like sound that stole his breath away, and he found himself fidgeting and twitching his eyes about in search of something _anything_ else to focus on,

"Wanna come over and…get to know each other better?" she said, and the most innocent words were suddenly made into the devil's gospel. Merlin looked up, and saw the girl grinning impishly.

Merlin realized he was locked in a game with some kind of demon. He flailed about in his head, searching for some kind of escape. But the pain was distracting, and his mind was groggy, and it was just so _hot_…

"Meeeerlin!" Arthur was suddenly by his side, one arm around his shoulders with the connecting hand over his eyes and Merlin sighed audibly in relief, "I'm so sorry," Arthur said, sounding anything but, "But we must be on our way," The girl's voice took on an almost pouting note. Merlin could imagine her voluptuous bottom lip sticking outwards,

"Aww, but why?" she whined. Arthur tensed up and spoke firmly,

"He's not interested, and we have business to attend to," Merlin feeling suddenly foolish, tore Arthur's hand away from his eyes and glared at him,

"I can take care of myself," he said. Arthur ignored him and nodded obligingly to the girl,

"Have yourself a nice day!" he exclaimed, and then led Merlin away at a brisk pace.

The other knights were waiting together next to one of the stalls, looking thoroughly amused. Merlin felt himself redden again, and wrestled his way out of Arthur's grasp. Arthur ignored that and as the group resumed their pace, spoke,

"Those are called exotic women, _Mer_lin, and we stay away from them," Merlin fumed at his patronizing tone, and pulled at the collar of his shirt, feeling very heated,

"Thanks for the tip, _Arthur_. I was handling it,"

Gwaine winked at him and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly in Arthur's direction. Merlin smiled and felt a bit less humiliated.

If just a bit.

…..

Gwaine watched with a dwindling sense of hope as Arthur questioned yet _another_ person,

"Do you know of a man named Jacob? A sorcerer, black market dealings with wisprend. Have you ever heard of him?" Arthur inquired for about the thousandth time that day. The fat, ginger stall owner scratched his exposed, freckled chest, and feigned a thoughtful expression,

"Erm…" he said, and Arthur reflexively looked skywards, "Can't say that I 'ave,"

"Okay, bye then, thanks for all your help," Arthur said quickly, and then led the way away from the stall. Gwaine smiled slightly and reached forward to ruffle his king's hair as they walked. Arthur recoiled with a look of distaste,

"Ahh, don't worry, Princess. I'm sure your infallible charm will come through for us…eventually," Gwaine said with a cheery grin. Arthur glared at him, though Gwaine could see his heart wasn't in it.

They'd all been wandering for hours now, and it was the early evening. They had investigated every tavern, interrogated every merchant, dealer, gambler, and/or fancy lady. Still nothing. Presumably, no one had ever heard of or done business with anyone by the name of Jacob. At least not here in Mercy, and not with anything by the name of wisprend.

Gwaine had been watching Merlin carefully through all of it, and saw the increasing signs of dejection in his face as they searched relentlessly with nothing to show for it.

Still, Arthur refused to give up. And the sentiment was shared amongst them.

Gwaine wasn't really in the mood to annoy the fair-headed king, which was really saying something about their current predicament.

But they could all use some cheering up. Especially, Merlin.

And, as always, the heavy responsibility of entertainment fell heavily upon Gwaine's noble shoulders.

Arthur wasn't going down without a fight, though,

"You know nothing of diplomacy, so what makes you think I'd listen to you?" he asked.

"Because, these people don't want diplomats. They communicate only with the likes of themselves," Gwaine said. Arthur just frowned at him and continued walking.

Feeling encouraged, Gwaine opened his mouth, a clever goad dancing on the tip of his tongue when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Elyan watching him with a slight smirk,

"Really, Gwaine, I wouldn't put it past Arthur," he said, and gestured to a group of scantily clad women eyeballing them from the steps of a tavern, "But do you really want him blending in with the locals _that_ well?" Sudden images of Arthur in a gossamer red lace raced through Gwaine's mind without his assent, and he threw his head back with laughter,

"I would expect Arthur to do anything for the greater good. Merlin, where do you think we can find an outfit for Princess?" he said, ignoring Arthur's smoldering glare. There was no answer. Gwaine frowned, "Merlin?" he repeated, and turned around to-

"Arthur!" he cried, whirling around desperately in search of a raven-haired figure. But there was nothing. Gwaine looked towards his king and saw that Arthur was also wildly scanning the crowd for his friend. He also seemed to find nothing, and Gwaine felt his breathing quicken,

"Split up," Arthur said, his face and voice deceptively, falsely calm but ringing with its usual authority, "Leon, Elyan, search the South end of town. Gwaine, Percival and I will go back the way we came. We'll meet back here and _no one_ go off alone. Is this understood?" They all nodded, and then Leon and Elyan bolted off in their designated direction. Gwaine rubbed the pommel of his sword for reassurance, and followed Arthur as he sprinted back the way they came, searching the streets and calling Merlin's name repeatedly.

Gwaine assumed that Percival was behind him, but didn't take the time to look backwards and make sure. He was too busy fighting the fear and anxiety crawling up his spine and prickling his nerves. The sounds of the crowd beat upon him, he would be sore later from the drastic sudden movements to his neck. Where was Merlin? Why'd he leave? Gwaine felt wrong, like bile, rise up his throat as the unthinkable ran through his mind. What if…What if someone had taken-?

"Oh, my God!" Percival's booming voice rose above the din of the chaos, and Gwaine spun around to see the large man staring upward with a look of absolute terror on his face. Despite the ice running up and down Gwaine's back, he followed Percival's gaze, and what he saw froze his blood.

Merlin stood on the edge of a five story building, his arms splayed outward from his sides, like he was preparing to fly.

Like he was going to jump.

Gwaine fought to contain a scream.

….

Arthur wasn't sure how exactly he'd gotten here but he still knew it wasn't close enough. He raced up the winding staircase, which led to the roof, the sound of his boots clomping on the wooden steps clashing with the tempo of his rampaging heart beat. He sent a rapid fire of his pleading thoughts up the stairs and to the roof where Merlin stood one step away from certain death. _Please, don't move Merlin. Just stay still, I'm coming. _He could hear Gwaine and Percival rushing upwards, also, behind him. He prayed, he begged to the heavens that Merlin would just. Not. Move.

Finally, blessedly, Arthur spied the ramshackle door which led out onto the roof. He burst through it into the sun and the cool wind, panting and sweating and wildly looking around the battered, sandstone top.

He then caught sight of what he was looking for, and his heart couldn't seem to decide whether to leap through his throat or break through his chest. The roof was not more than twenty feet across on each side, with no railing.

Merlin's arms were spread wide, as if to embrace something, and his eyes were cast downward to the bustling street below.

Arthur felt the blood pulse in his head and ears and the tips of his fingers as he walked forward hesitantly, raising a hand to signal that the knights behind him were to stay put,

"Merlin?" Arthur called, testing, unsure and afraid of making the wrong move. Merlin didn't respond to his call.

Arthur knew that Merlin was having another hallucination, and decided the only good way out of this was to convince Merlin what was reality,

"Hey, Merlin, what're you doing? That's dangerous, you know," Arthur said, stepping forward a bit more, his voice gently provocative, like when speaking to a child. Arthur's boot made a scuffing sound as it dragged across the rough surface, and Merlin's shoulders tensed ever so slightly. Arthur mimicked the gesture and felt his hand rise upward involuntarily.

But then, Merlin spoke, and his voice was distant and dreamy and so quiet Arthur thought it would blow away in the wind,

"It's so hot, Arthur. And…And the water looks so _cold_. I-I want to jump into it," Arthur caught himself just before he started to lunge forward, and spoke again, trying to make his voice seem calm, reasonable,

"Merlin, that's not water down there," Merlin didn't respond, except to sway forward just a bit more, "Please, Merlin, I need you to trust me, okay? It's me, Arthur, remember? You said so yourself, it's me. I need…I need you to come away from the edge, alright? Just come away and I'll get you something nice to take away the heat," he finished hopefully.

Merlin still made no move to follow Arthur's directions, but lifted his face to the sky. And it reminded Arthur of a gesture of worship. And then he spoke again. And this time, Arthur could hear plainly the pain in his voice, the tinge derived from internal decay and loss,

"I wish it would rain. Will and I used to play in it, when it did. But I would get sick, and my mother got mad at me," he said, and then slowly, agonizingly slowly, looked back down again, and leaned forward. Arthur stepped forward some more, against his own will, the panic that he'd been isolating now building up inside of him and spreading through his chest. He was now only three or so yards behind Merlin. And Arthur realized Gwaine was to his right, tensed as if to spring. And Arthur was also.

"Focus, Merlin, _really_ focus. This is not real, the water isn't there. You-you're going to hurt yourself if you jump,"

This time Merlin inclined his head sideways, not quite looking at Arthur, but obviously addressing him. His face was twisted into an ugly scowl, and he didn't quite look like himself. His voice was etched with deep suffering and unexplainable pain,

"I'm already hurt, Arthur," is what he said. And the words were like shards of glass in Arthur's gut. And then one foot was outwards, dipping downwards with nothing but thin air beneath it.

Gwaine reacted before Arthur. He rushed forward and grabbed Merlin's torso, pulling him back and fighting tooth and nail to wrestle him away from the drop. Arthur urgently stepped forward to help.

But then something happened that just didn't make sense. That just couldn't be real. And Arthur couldn't move or breathe or think as it did.

Gwaine's foot caught on a fissure in the stone, and he lost his balance, and tipped backwards, hovering for one endless, breathless second, that was still too little time, teetering on the edge and utter shock written plainly on his face with his arms still wrapped about Merlin's chest.

And then they fell.

"MERLIN!"

...

A/N: OMG, did I really just do that to you?! Yes, I did, and I'm truly, very sorry. But it's just so fun to watch you guys squirm. Mwahahaha! Not that I don't love you! Seriously, you guys are SUPER awesome! Remember, the more **Reviews** I get, the faster I write!

PS: This last statement may or may not be true, but I would suggest reviewing anyway on the off-chance that it is. ;) I mean, really, it's just a few words and a click of a button and WHAMO! Okay, I'm done now. Have a nice weekend! Next chapter soon!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Whew! Okay, so I made good on my claim and got this one done earlier than usual, though it wasn't easy, I'll have you know. ;) Not too much action this chapter, but some humor and Arthur cuteness and such. This chapter focuses mainly on the plot, and I bring in a new character! Woohoo! OK, I'm done. Read on!

Arthur's knees gave way. The sound of them crashing to the stone seemed to echo in his head with brutal finality. His hand was still outstretched, reaching grasping holding onto nothing.

Both his friends…gone.

"Oh, God, no. No, no, no, Merlin, no," Arthur spoke franticly, though he was hardly aware of it. He pounded the ground to punctuate each word, the seconds passing as endless, painful centuries. The guilt was tearing him to pieces, and his hand began to bleed.

And then, the acrid smell of sulfur. A static charge ripped through the surrounding atmosphere. And Arthur's hair stood on end before what felt like a small shockwave sent tingles through his entire body.

And then there was the smell of smoke. Arthur turned and saw the gray cloud billowing out from under the door. Percival and he shared one brief look of hesitant hope and astonishment, and then they bolted to the door.

Arthur threw it open and his knees connected again.

This time, with unutterable relief.

…..

The wind and the weightlessness and the feeling of his stomach running into his chest was enough to snap Merlin back into reality.

He was falling, and he wasn't alone.

He caught one glimpse of the ground rapidly encompassing his whole vision, and his magic reacted instinctively of its own accord. There was a black cloud of crackling energy which surrounded him and whoever was squeezing the life out of him, and he was five feet above the ground-

And he was sprawled on a wooden staircase in an empty corridor, sore all over and panting and sweating, twisted into a knot of arms and legs with another figure. The wind was gone, and it was startlingly quiet, but the air smelled of the smoke, which now clouded the sloped passageway. Merlin disentangled himself, and felt his throat tighten as he saw that it was Gwaine who had fallen with him.

Merlin's heart beat was lightning quick like a bird's, and he clutched at his chest which pulsed with pain, trying to slow his breathing and failing miserably. Gwaine looked similarly effected, his face switching expressions in rapid succession from relieved to goofily happy to disbelieving and onward.

And suddenly, Merlin was tackled on his side by something extremely heavy and _very_ clingy. Merlin craned his neck to see Percival practically on top of him with a giant bear hug. Merlin's stomach was clenched with guilt, and his brain suddenly caught up with what his mouth was already doing,

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Oh, God, I almost _killed_…I-I didn't mean it…I didn't mean it…"

And suddenly, Merlin was pried from Percival's arms and he was being dragged up the steps by a firm hand on his arm. He was pulled out onto the roof, and Merlin realized it was Arthur who had grabbed him, and was now lifting his arms and running his hands through the sides of Merlin's head and franticly checking every inch of him for sign of injury, and the guilt grew to an overwhelming crescendo.

The shock and adrenaline faded as Arthur continued his inspection, and the full impact of what had just happened hit Merlin like a staggering blow. His breathing quickened and his eyes filled with hot tears. The strength drained out of him, and then Arthur was standing and the despair ate away at Merlin along with the pain and the nausea at what he had almost done to himself and Gwaine,

"Arthur, I-I…" but he didn't get to finish his sentence. Arthur's hand was on the back of Merlin's head, and the Merlin's face was on his shoulder, buried in his jerkin as Arthur gripped Merlin's hair tightly, his other hand on his hunched back.

"You, idiot," he said, his voice muffled by Merlin's hair, "You. Complete. Idiot,"

Merlin let a few tears drip down his face, feeling overwhelmed.

And then he felt the stirring inside of him that wasn't guilt or fear or anything like that.

Oh, crap.

Merlin pulled away from Arthur, and fell to his hands and knees, retching blood onto the stone, pain swirling through him as he did. And then he dry heaved for a moment, his consciousness beginning to leak out of him. And he sunk into blackness.

….

Arthur caught Merlin as he went limp, and gently lowered him to the ground away from the puddle of blood he'd expelled.

Arthur made a point of not looking at it.

Percival and Gwaine had come up just a few moments before and Arthur blushed just a bit, wondering if they'd seen him hug Merlin. Truth be told, and though this would have been inconceivable not a year ago, Arthur didn't quite care all that much if they did.

It had been awhile since Arthur had last tried to hide his friendship with Merlin.

Percival walked over, looking tentative and wincing in sympathy at Merlin's prone form. Gwaine openly scowled and kneeled next to his friend.

"Come on," Arthur said, "We need to get him someplace comfortable," the knights nodded in unison, and Percival bent down and gently lifted Merlin off the ground.

The warlock's head lolled, and fell against Percival's chest, bits of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Arthur frowned.

Up against the burly man, he looked so-so _small_. Too small.

….

Merlin woke to another feeling of weightlessness. A little spasm ran through him as his addled mind made him think he was falling again, but then he realized the space between him and the moving ground was not of his own making, but that he was being carried. Every step was somewhat calculated and smooth, so that the jolt of pain that went through Merlin with each one was not so overwhelming. He looked up to see that he was pressed against the wide chest of Percival, who was looking straight ahead and seemingly unaware that Merlin was awake,

"Umm…" Merlin said, a bit lost. Percival looked down at him, and stopped in his tracks, a giant smile splitting his face. Merlin tried to smile back a bit and then turned to see both Arthur and Gwaine staring at him with an odd mixture of concern and unease. No one spoke.

Well, this is awkward.

"Umm…," Merlin repeated, "Would you put me down, please?" he asked, trying not to sound rude. Percival blushed a bit and nodded vigorously, setting Merlin down on the ground. Men just didn't carry other men that way when both were conscious.

Merlin wobbled a bit, having overestimated the strength of his legs, and almost fell if not for Gwaine's steadying hands,

"Woah there, mate," he said, "Here," he put Merlin's arm around his shoulder with one hand, and supported his waist with the other. Merlin didn't fight it, he just felt too tired and nauseous and dizzy and weak and in just too much _pain_…

He fought not to throw up again. Or pass out.

Or breathe too deeply.

…

Merlin winced as they walked back outside onto the main street. The sun was partially set now, at that moment when it was brightest, but this wasn't what hurt. A crowd had decided to gather beneath the building, and they whispered and gossiped and stared with various expressions of shock and fascination and, even, annoyance. Merlin tried to ignore them, which was kind of hard since they were all staring at _him_.

Arthur glared flaming, flying swords at anyone who tried to get closer, but one figure broke apart from the crowd and strode forward anyway.

Any embarrassment Merlin had been feeling at the crowd of onlookers was now multiplied ten times. It was her.

It was the girl who'd tried to…to…

She was, thankfully (because it was _not _regretful. Not!), dressed now, in a startlingly modest, green dress and tattered shawl, which she wrapped about herself in an almost protective gesture. The curls in her hair were frizzier and more disheveled now, and she wore no makeup. She looked approachable, younger.

What was really strange, other than the fact that she was walking forward to their group in the first place, was that she actually looked concerned. She was looking straight at Merlin, chewing her bottom lip and running her eyes over him in a completely different manner than she had earlier that day,

"Is he hurt? Is he okay?" she asked, addressing Arthur. Merlin guessed he must look pretty terrible for her not to think he could answer the question himself. He probably looked as bad as he felt. He was, after all, almost leaning all of his weight on Gwaine, now.

Arthur furrowed his brow at her suspiciously, and folded his arms,

"Why would you care? You tried to take his innocence just this morning," he sneered.

Merlin resented that. He could handle himself! Even as he thought this, a random jolt of pain ran through him and he wheezed and doubled over. The girl sent Merlin a look of worry, which perplexed him, and then turned back to the king. The girl flipped her hair backwards and mimicked Arthur's crossed arms, leaning heavily on her hip, and giving him a look that Merlin was impossibly grateful not to be on the receiving end of,

"Listen, here, you conceited imbecile. I do what I have to, to survive, that doesn't make me any less morally righteous than you. There's only so much you can do as a woman in this world, let alone this city. So shut up, and listen," Arthur looked a little baffled, but didn't speak, and the girl continued, briefly inclining her head in Merlin's direction with her next words, "Thisun's good. I can tell. You need a place to stay, obviously, and a place for him to rest. I can help,"

Arthur studied her skeptically, though his face had softened a bit. The girl pressed on, though her voice was becoming more warbled to Merlin, and the fatigue was settling over him like a warm, heavy blanket…

"It's either you follow me, or end up in some random tavern fending off gossipers and less wholesome folk than myself," her eyes twinkled at this last bit, and she smirked, "You all made quite a scene here today,"

Merlin's vision darkened and he realized his eyes had slipped closed.

Arthur must have nodded, or shown some sign of agreement, because the girl's voice was suddenly bright,

"Right, then! My name's Adelle. Follow me,"

…..

Arthur only half paid attention to the darkening sky, as he was too busy watching over Merlin, who was now riding mostly asleep on Percival's back, and studying their guide.

Adelle walked with her shoulders back and with long strides, almost self-assuredly. She'd told Arthur that Leon and Elyan would be at their destination, having sent one of her colleagues to find them, apparently, during the situation on the roof. Arthur was reasonably suspicious as to why she seemed so interested in their party, but had no reason _not_ to believe her.

He furrowed his brow in puzzlement, and sidled up a bit closer in order to speak quietly. Adelle didn't react except to turn her head with a slight look of interest. Arthur couldn't hold back the question that had been burning in his mind for the past half hour or so of walking,

"Why are you helping us?" Of course, Arthur could argue with himself that maybe she wasn't trying to help them, and was really leading them into a den of thieves, but she had just looked so honestly _concerned _over Merlin, and he wondered why. The girl raised her eyebrows, but didn't look particularly surprised at the question. She seemed to consider for a moment, and then glanced over her shoulder at the unmoving form of Merlin being piggy-backed, and smiled a bit bemusedly,

"I'm not proud of what I have to do for a living," she said, "but I can tell when a man has wickedness in his heart, because of it. I can tell this one doesn't," her eyes shone with amusement,

"Merlin," Arthur corrected. Adelle nodded,

"Merlin," she amended, "I could tell by the way he tried to look away from me. Almost, as if, for my sake, and not for his. He just looked so _uncomfortable_," she turned back to Arthur with a true, beaming smile this time that was just a tad wicked, "Besides, I've always had a soft spot for newbies in this town," she laughed a tinkling, bell like laugh, that was infectious and Arthur found himself smiling.

This city was strange, indeed. It might be good to have some help, after all.

…..

"You've got to be kidding me. A brothel?!" Gwaine sounded far, far too delighted for Arthur's taste.

They stood outside the building, which, was, indeed, as Gwaine said. It was a run down, smaller building. Light spilled from the windows out onto the street.

Arthur turned to glare at his knight,

"No funny business, Gwaine," he said. Gwaine looked a little disappointed but nodded with a smile.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Princess,"

Adelle smiled and walked ahead without a word, opening the front door and disappearing inside. Arthur took a deep breath and gestured for his knights to follow as he followed suit and headed to the door.

He paused, and then threw it open.

He was bathed in the warm light and smells and sounds as he walked in, and when his eyes adjusted to the light he had to take yet another moment to absorb his surroundings.

They stood in some kind of common room, where various women sat on couches and beds of pillows in revealing, colorful outfits, sewing or snacking or braiding each other's hair. Most of them looked around middle aged.

Many of them were heartbreakingly young.

A few of them turned to see the newcomers, but none approached, having possibly been warned that Arthur and his company weren't here for the usual reasons.

Adelle spoke with one plump, matronly looking woman in the middle of the room, in a business like manner, and Arthur supposed she was explaining their presence with further detail.

Arthur scanned the room, as was his immediate instinct in a new, potentially dangerous environment, and felt relief blow over him as he caught sight of his missing knights.

"Leon! Elyan!" he called. They were both standing in the corner of the chamber, looking decidedly discomforted and more than a little defensive. Their faces lit up at seeing Arthur, but darkened as they approached and caught sight of Merlin, still passed out on Percival's back. Percival was starting to look tired, and Arthur hoped they could all get some rest soon.

"We heard what happened from Angela," Elyan said as he and Leon reached Arthur and clasped forearms with him and Gwaine. Arthur frowned,

"Who's Angela?" he asked. Leon looked over his shoulder and nodded in the direction of a petite, blond woman that couldn't have been more than thirty,

"She's the one," he said, "said something about the "black haired one of you all" trying to kill himself," he glanced over at Merlin with a look of questioning and concern,

"What happened?"

Arthur sighed and put a hand on his shoulder,

"Later. Right now, we need to get him to a bed," he said. Leon nodded, if a bit reluctantly, and then jumped a bit as Adelle appeared behind him, looking somewhat smug,

"I've arranged for you all to stay in one of the rooms, but you'll have to share the bed. I'm assuming you'll give it to Merlin, though," she said, and raised an eyebrow as if daring Arthur to challenge this.

He didn't.

She inclined her head in a gesture for them all to follow, and scanned her eyes over the whole group with an odd, knowing smile, and then spun on her heel and strolled off.

Arthur shared a unanimous look of bemusement with his comrades, and then shrugged, and they all followed after the small young woman.

She led them to a set of stairs hidden in darkness within the right wall, and they went upward to the second floor, which was a bald hallway with several doors on each side.

She opened one door on the left, and they all entered to see a small, plain room with one good sized bed and no other adornment except for a couple clothes hangers on the far wall.

Arthur tried very, _very_ hard not to think about what exactly these chambers were utilized for.

Percival trudged forward and awkwardly lay Merlin on the bed, and Arthur couldn't help but feel a flare of worry as the boy didn't respond in the slightest, except to let out a soft groan. Percival adjusted him so that he was in a more comfortable position, and Arthur noticed that there was a slight sheen of sweat covering Merlin's skin, and a pinched look to his face as if he were still in pain.

Arthur knew he was, of course, but it was hard to pretend he wasn't if Merlin made it so hard.

"Get some rest. I've made sure the others won't disturb you," Adelle said, heading back to the door and grabbing the handle. She turned back one last time, and winked, "Don't let the bed bugs bite," she smiled and whisked away, shutting the door behind her.

"She's…," Gwaine said, puckering his face in concentration.

"I know," Arthur said.

They all stood in silence for a moment, letting the events of the day seep into their bones and spirits to weary them further.

"Come on," Arthur forced out, finally, "we should sleep. We have a lot left to do,"

They all nodded, and took off their swords and working into various states of undress, settling into places on the floor or leaning against the wall to try and sleep.

Arthur settled himself with his back against Merlin's bed, and let all the tensions in his muscles ooze out of him, sighing deeply.

He mentally went over everything that they would have to do tomorrow. He would have to send someone to gather some of the necessary supplies from the horses tomorrow, and to feed them. But no one could go alone, that was too dangerous, so Arthur supposed they'd have to map out some strategy for gathering information. Merlin might not feel up to walking around the city, so he might have to stay here, but Arthur couldn't leave him with no one but strangers, so maybe Elyan would be willing to stay.

Basically, he tried fiercely to think of anything but the fact that Merlin had one more week to live.

His mind went through all these problems over and over again until he couldn't plan and proof anymore.

A soft sound of pain escaped from Merlin, and Arthur felt the mattress shift with his restless movements.

He contented himself until he fell asleep with imagining what Jacob's face looked like.

And imagining all the wonderful ways that he could disfigure it.

A/N: Yay! Please **Review** and tell me what you think. Do you like Adelle? :D I'm a bit excited over her, since she's my own character, so please tell me what you thought of her! Don't worry, she won't overshadow any bromance, though. ;) Thank you all so much for your kind support, and here's my replies to some of my anonymous reviewers who had names, for my last chapter:

natcel: Thank you so much! It makes me so happy to know you enjoy my writing style. And thanks for taking the time to review, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. ;D

Sequence: Aww! Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!...Thanks. There we go. ;)

Next chapy soon!

PS (spoiler alert for Merlin season 5): Okay, one thing to say about Merlin episode "the Disir"...Ohmigosh! Poor Merlin! Did you see his face when he said "he grew up" to Gaius? D': And then he let Arthur push magic farther away just because of stupid Mordred...I was muttering "idiot idiot idiot!" Okay, I'm done with my rant. :D Enjoy your day!


	13. Bridge Perspective: Adelle

__A/N: This isn't really a true chapter, but I wanted to convey the process going on with their efforts in Mercy, and the mood with Merlin's ever deteriorating state, without having to write one. So, here's my compromise. From Adelle's perspective.

_I've always fancied myself rather observant. This being said, I would say it has not been easy these past four days, watching these grown men become increasingly agitated and worried and desperate. When they aren't outside the brothel, which they are for ninety percent of the day, except to come back at four in the morning to sleep, and then leave again at seven, they are hovering over the raven haired good one, Merlin. Even then, one always volunteers to stay here with him, and I can here low murmurs of gentle conversation from the room I gave them, and sometimes I hear dreadful sounds of coughing and sickness and am sure that Merlin will die at those times, but he holds on._

_The boy grows increasingly weaker, and though this saddens me considerably more than I find myself comfortable with, I can see that it is causing his companions immeasurable grief. They are in a constant, collective mood of darkness and determination, spending all of their time searching for answers in the city. After the first night of their stay, the long haired knight, Dwaine, or something like that, filled me in on a little of what their purpose here was, and it has been a long time since I have felt such sympathy. I know who this Jacob is, or, at least I know _of_ him. He is somewhat of a black mark on the already infamous reputation of this city, but I have never met him, and know no one who has. And I have seen what wisprend can do to the strongest._

_I have little hope for these noble men's crusade to save their friend._

_These are men of action, probably warriors, I would guess. They radiate fury and frustration and power and such a strange fierce protectiveness and affection for the ill boy that I almost feel sorry for Jacob if they ever do find him. Though, this is looking less and less likely as the days go by. Merlin won't hold out much longer, maybe not even two more days, from what I can see. This truly grieves me, more than anything has in a long time. I've spent some time myself with the boy, and find him to be charming and intelligent and innocent in a way that I have never encountered in a man before. I've been endeared to him, and he seems to like me as well._

_I think I might cry when he dies._

_Of all these men though, the blonde haired one, the leader, whom I presume to be a kind of a noble, puzzles me the most. Though he tries to hide it behind a façade of action and stern command, I can see that he is the most distressed by the torture his friend is suffering, and is the most vehemently denying of them all at the prospect of his departure from this world. I have never seen a man so attached to another man. They have some sort of odd relationship, with an unspoken, brotherly love that is obvious to all but, somehow, too sacred to mention. Just from the looks shared between the two, the subconscious banter I've caught a few snatches of here and there,, I know that there is a history between them that surpasses even their own understanding, and this discomforts them sometimes._

_The lot of them interests me. And I find myself strangely fond of them, and their, almost, family-like interactions._

_They are brothers, and fate looks fit to take one of their own._

_..._

A/N: Okay, I told you that she wouldn't overshadow the bromance, and I think I've made good on that promise. :) Next actual chapter soon! Please tell me what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Whew! This one was kinda tough. :D I hope you like it!

Elyan felt his throat constrict painfully as he laid a hand on Merlin's forearm, marveling disgustedly at how _cold_ it felt and listening to the suffocating silence. He kept his eyes locked on Merlin's chest, watching the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. He was asleep, though he sucked in through his teeth every now and then, his body distressed with the pain and the lack of air reaching his ravaged lungs. Elyan blew out his breath and raked a hand down his face, sliding the other to Merlin's wrist and pressing his fingers against the faint pulse beneath the sallow skin.

He didn't move it.

He felt restless, disquieted, sitting here alone with Merlin in the chambers provided for them, waiting breathlessly for the other knights to get back. Why he'd volunteered to be the one to stay here, he wasn't exactly sure. Maybe he felt obligated. Maybe he felt guilty.

Maybe he was afraid that when he came back…he would have missed his chance.

"You know, Merlin," Elyan said, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice. He wheezed a humorless chuckle, "you always did have a knack for trouble. Even when I first met you, it was all flying swords and fireballs and-and you and Arthur running around. You're always with him, you know? You two, you, uh, you always seem to be in some sort of peril. Always dragging me into it, too," he laughed again, though it sounded wetter this time, more forced. He took a shaky breath and continued, "But, you always came out of it, Merlin. You've always been so…whole. I, umm, I guess I've always been kind of jealous, of that. People count on you. You-you're a rock," Elyan sniffed loudly, and leaned backwards in his chair, wondering when it had become so easy for him to fall apart. He glanced at Merlin's face, and saw his brow drawn in an almost contemplative look. As if he were still figuring out ways to save the world in his sleep,

"Are you listening?"

Of course, there was no response. This had been growing increasingly frequent over the past four days. This had been frustrating for them all, Merlin slipping away in the middle of sentences to stare at the far wall, face etched with pain, or erupting into a coughing fit which left him unconscious, for, sometimes, hours. And it wasn't just from the pain, anymore. Blood loss and his dying insides were slowly killing him.

Arthur, however, had been hit the hardest by all of this. He spent more time outside the brothel than any of them. He had dark circles under his eyes, a spastic energy and desperation to his steps, and Elyan knew he was hardly eating or sleeping during those few moments of rest he allowed himself. He was working himself to the bone and deeper. Searching and spying and interrogating like a mad man. He wouldn't be able to accept it. Of course, they had all been trying hard. They tried so very, very hard.

But something else had crept its way into their minds and hearts as these days had gone past that had failed to reach their king. Merlin grew increasingly weaker, his breaths shorter, the pain more intense, though he hallucinated no longer and spent his every waking minute and all else in the bed. He still tried for a smile every now and then, or a lame joke or an encouraging word. Elyan felt himself breaking watching it. They all knew he was dying. The way he talked was different. He said personal things. He'd told Elyan he was brave and a good brother and knight.

And they all knew he was saying goodbye. Except, Arthur. Or, maybe he knew. Maybe he knew, and refused to see it.

Though it was painful, though it was like swallowing a spiked, burning flesh-tearing ball of despair and surreal guilt, they had begun to resign themselves to it. Elyan hated it. He hated it and while he and the knights had searched feverishly like men possessed, and they were, possessed by blazing denial and fear and sickness at the thought of their friend dying, no sign of Jacob had been found. Not one bloody, _damned_ thing. And Merlin was slipping away. And there was nothing they could do about it.

Elyan knew what he had to do now. He knew it, because it made sense. Merlin had hours left, if that. He should have had two more days. But he was thin and he'd strained himself from the hallucinations and falling from that building and it was only logical that a million and one things could have effected him to speed up the process.

And, now, he had hours.

Elyan knew what he had to do now. He knew it, because it made sense in such a cruel and excruciating way. He would stay here. He would stay with Merlin and be with him for those last moments. He knew, when the other knights arrived, they would do the same. And it would rip them apart and, Elyan knew, it would hurt him like nothing had in a very, very long time. But it had to be done. Merlin was his friend. He was _their_ friend. And he would need them there…as he passed. Elyan felt the hot tears prick his eyes as he rubbed them, taking short, shuddering breaths and squeezing Merlin's hand tighter, reveling in the feel of his pulse for as long as he could, which wouldn't be much longer. He knew.

He hoped they would come soon. He didn't want to do this alone.

…

A storm was brewing.

Arthur was not one to involve himself in the practice of melodrama, but as he trudged with Gwaine through the dusty, almost deserted streets of the city of Mercy, he found this analogy did due justice to his predicament.

And, there was, literally, you know, a storm brewing.

The sky was completely overcast, despite it being only around five in the evening. It was windy and dry and everything had an oddly grey, two dimensional look and feel. Arthur didn't like it; it seemed to heighten and concentrate the already ominous feeling in his gut that he had been trying very hard to ignore for the past two days. But, he supposed that ominous wasn't really the right word.

His insides were clenched and twisted with desperation and frustration, and a panic that he tried to tell himself was unneeded, was irrational. They still had forty-eight hours, after all. He told himself this over and over and it still didn't ease his mind. They had been searching for Jacob for days now. Days! And had found absolutely nothing.

They'd grilled and pestered and poked and prodded and, still, no sign of Jacob. No one knew where he was, no one knew what he looked like, no one even knew how old he might be, or whether he was actually a male! It was driving Arthur insane.

Merlin was running out of time.

He calmed the fury and strangling fear that had begun to overtake him, by breathing deeply through his nose and rationalizing in his mind as he walked, his hands balled into white fists at his sides. We still have time. We still have time.

Presently, yes, focus on the present, they were heading back to the brothel. They needed to see if the women there, whom Adelle had employed as her personal spies and information gatherers, had found anything useful. Though they usually came back just as empty handed as the knights; Arthur also had to check in on them, to see if they found anything. Anything.

Still have time. Still have time.

The wind blew through Arthur's hair and snaked through his shirt. He shivered, and drew his cloak closer, sparing a glance at Gwaine who walked by his side.

The man had developed a perpetually pale pallor the day before, and had been growing increasingly pinched and fidgety. Arthur knew he was just as worried for Merlin as himself. Don't think of Merlin.

Still have time. Still have time.

…..

Finally, the brothel entered Arthur's line of vision, and he raced forward, eager to see if any news on Jacob's whereabouts had been found. He threw open the door, and stepped inside with Gwaine behind him, struggling to close the door against the wind. Finally, it shut, blocking out the torrent and sending the chambers into a startling silence. Arthur took a moment to catch his breath, his face hot from the exertion and sudden warmth. Turning away from the door, he felt his stomach suddenly plummeted downward.

The women sat around the main chamber, as was usual, but there was something different in the air. Many of them looked sad, the rest were just respectfully quiet, as if it would be inappropriate to defy the heavy silence. It was a house of mourning.

Arthur felt his breathing quicken, his heart thumped madly against his chest and he started for the stairs when-

A small hand grasped his arm, and he turned to see Adelle. His breath caught at the sight of unshed tears swimming in her eyes, and decorating her lashes,

"Arthur, we-we haven't found anything. I wish there was something more I could have done," she said, her voice small and…filled with regret.

"No," Arthur whispered, his voice hoarse with the lump that had begun to form there. He tore from her grip and rushed up the stairs, Gwaine's pounding feet and his own doing nothing to overpower the loud thumping of his heart in his ears.

He burst through the door to the chambers, and it slammed against the inner wall with a hard crack, but he hardly noticed.

Merlin lay on the bed, eyes closed on his almost translucently pale face, underneath the sheets except for his arms, which lay atop them, his left hand sandwiched gently in between Leon's. The knights surrounded the bed, sitting on chairs and their faces pale and twisted with grief as they turned to see Arthur and Gwaine, their eyes, almost, piteous.

Arthur's whole essence jolted violently with the unthinkable for a split second, but he almost fainted with relief when he saw the steady, if wrenchingly shallow rise and fall of Merlin's chest.

The air was palpable with a fog of silence and waiting. Arthur recognized the signs surrounding him, but his mind refused to register it. He felt a flare of defiance, and turned to see Leon watching him gravely, his shoulders heavy and looking fit to break from the weight of duty in his eyes. He squeezed Merlin's hand, almost reassuringly, even though he was asleep, and stood.

He approached Arthur, almost as if bracing himself for a battle.

"What's going on?" Arthur demanded, knowing full well the answer to his own question but unable to accept it. No.

Leon reached forward and put one hand on Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur wanted to pull from it and swear and tell them all to stop. Stop _acting_ like this! But he couldn't. He felt cold and numb and dizzy with denial.

"Arthur," Leon said, and the use of his name sent Arthur's head spinning with refusal. "He…He's starting to fade," Leon said. Arthur felt himself shaking his head, stepping back and away from Leon's outstretched hand,

"No," Arthur said, his own voice echoing in his head again and again like the toll of a bell, "No! No, that's impossible, he still has two days," even as he said it, Leon's eyes grew sadder and sadder, and Arthur wanted to punch him and make him see sense, and shake them all and tell them to snap out of it.

"His breathing and pulse grow weaker. He won't last three more hours," Leon's words rang in Arthur's ears like a blow. Somewhere deep inside, Arthur knew that there could be a thousand things that would make Merlin's death come sooner. That there was nothing strange in the way the knights were acting. But, no. No, this couldn't be happening.

Arthur realized he was backing up, shaking his head, low denials spilling from his mouth as his hand found the hilt of his sword,

"No," he repeated, as if it would mean something, breathless and wildly whipping his head around, searching vainly for some kind of hope, and feeling a hot, feral anger rise up inside of him as he spied nothing but misery, and anguish. And they stared at Arthur with sympathy.

They had given up.

Arthur turned to Gwaine, hoping for the same disbelief and fury he felt mirrored there, but all he saw was…devastation. Gwaine stared at Merlin's form with his mouth open and his eyes glassed over with dismay. The rage in Arthur grew to a smothering crescendo, and he slashed through the air with one hand, snarling,

"You cowards! You're ready to let go, just like that," his voice was dripping with venom. Leon didn't look surprised. In fact, he looked, understanding, and tortured. And Arthur wanted to punch him.

And he almost did. He reared back his hand and Leon stepped back just a bit, but otherwise didn't flinch. That was it. Cowards, quitters, _defeated_. Arthur took one last look at the group of men before him, and sprinted out the door, fueled with the inferno of fear and discord raging inside of him.

He ignored the voices calling after him, and he ignored the cold as he sprinted out onto the street, and he ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him that there was no point, and that he should be with Merlin because there was _still hope_. There had to be.

He would find Jacob. He had too.

…

Arthur was desperate. He had never felt desperation this potently before. He could taste it as it rose up his throat, could feel it in the buzz of his fingertips, could hear it in his own heavy, grating breaths. And desperation calls for desperate measures taken. The sky was black with thick swirling clouds now, thunder rumbled in the distance, and tongues of lightning pierced to too early darkness every few minutes. But Arthur didn't care. He was occupied.

Arthur had heard tell of a place just outside the city, a place where the victims of wisprend went, or were taken. They took the drug there, and lived, for lack of a better word, in their filth, until they blessedly died. Gwaine said he had gone there about two days ago, hoping to find some information from one of the victims. He'd come back looking drawn and weary, somewhat shocked and empty-handed. Nothing had been found. He'd told Arthur that the people there no longer had their minds.

Arthur believed him.

But he was desperate.

….

It wasn't really a building, not really. It was dark and large and overgrown with weeds and vines that climbed the broken crumbling walls. It was the pathetic remnants of a once great structure, now house and home to the forsaken. It was surrounded by the forested outskirts of the city of Mercy, and its dark outline was illuminated with the occasional flash of lightning, displaying the jagged edges and dense foliage surrounding the gaps in its aged walls.

But Arthur wasn't frightened.

He rushed forward, paving a path through the undergrowth with his sword. He reached a large hole in one of the walls of the building, and only hesitated a moment to peer into the darkness, before stepping inside. The inside of the building was a poor shield against the howling wind, but it was enough that the chill alleviated just a bit from Arthur's bones.

With a flash of light from the storm, Arthur caught sight of the place around him, it immediately returned.

The people that surrounded him no longer seemed as such. Many stank of their own rot, and they lay huddled in the corners, in the filth and the rotting leaves, their eyes vacant of thought and the spark of real life. They still breathed, they no longer lived.

Arthur felt his heart plummet as he saw the absolute nothingness in their expressions. He knew without trying, he would get no information from their void bodies. Cursing loudly he thrust his sword into the ground, and ducked his head, knowing he had wasted over half an hour of precious time. He began formulating another plan against the panic rushing through him. Back to Mercy, he would go back. He would find something else.

He picked up the weapon, sheathed it, and began to turn around when, suddenly, a static charge of energy exploded behind him, a shockwave through his body, sending him careening forward onto the dirt with a loud squeal.

Wait, that hadn't been him.

He whipped around in search of the source of the squeak, and found his eyes settle on a very aware, very awake figure. The hunched over, cloaked form lay next to a smoldering mini-crater where the lightning had just struck. Feeling a new surge of hope, Arthur bound to his feet and ran to the person. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the quivering figure's fat neck. Lightning flashed across the sky, allowing Arthur a split second to see the suspect's stubbly, chubby face, and oh, so wonderfully lively eyes.

"Why are you here?" Arthur demanded, hiding his elation at the fact that there was someone here, who wasn't a victim of wisprend and might kno-

"I-I-I," the man stammered, "I was c-collecting the leftover wisprend. The stuff they leave behind. I s-sell it to them, and then resell the stuff they didn't get to use. Please don't hurt me," Arthur imagined he must have gone cross eyed looking at the tip of the sword now at his face.

"You sell wisprend. Where did you get your original stash? Where is Jacob?" Arthur pressed the sword into the man's neck, not enough to even draw blood, and this was only from Arthur's rapidly deteriorating self-control, but the man hissed and whimpered,

"I'll tell you, I'll tell you, _please_ just take it away," Arthur could have sworn he was starting to cry, and he had to keep himself from kicking the pitiful wretch.

"Where. Is. He," Arthur repeated, losing his patience. The man gulped loudly and spoke quickly,

"Thirty minutes west of here. A small hut, red thatched roof, barely noticeable. It's dark, so if you look hard, you'll see. Please, let me-,"

"Be quiet!" Arthur yelled, pulling his sword away, somewhat reluctantly, and sheathing it. He turned away from the man and ran outside the building, his mind whirling with the sudden hope filling him. He could find Jacob. He could find him.

He began running westward, and he didn't look back.

A/N: Ehehehe, ahem. :) Not really a cliffie, not _really_. Okay, please tell me what you think and **Review! **If I could reach 200 or more reviews before the next chapter, I will be a happy, happy camper. :D Have a nice weekend!

PS: any reference to time stuff like seconds, or minutes, or hours, is intentional. I know it probably isn't correct to the period, but I just don't really care all that much, and I think it works OK. :) Alright, I'm done!


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Whew! This one. Was. Difficult. So sorry for the long wait, but I had a lot to do this week. So, here ya go! Hope you enjoy! :D

Arthur was scared. He didn't know why. After all, he was so close to finding Jacob, and he could get the antidote and go back and save Merlin and things would be just the way they should. And Merlin would smile at him goofily and say thanks and there would be one of those precious awkward silences where neither of them spoke but both conveyed _so_ much. And he _knew_ these things would happen.

Yet, he was scared. He put it down to being cold, and in the dark, and sprinting clumsily through the thick brambles. He blamed it on the violent clashing rolls of thunder, the oppressive darkness, the whiplash of the thin, windblown branches.

He didn't dare acknowledge the doubt coursing like poison in his veins.

He couldn't see more than ten feet in front of him, the forest shrouded in darkness, but he knew he should see the cottage soon. It had been around a half an hour, but still, even as he peered so hard into the woods around him that it hurt, he saw nothing.

Panic began to fill his chest. What if he'd missed it? What if he was going in circles? What if the man had lied? What if-?

And, suddenly, it was there. A small, red roofed hovel overrun with long winding weeds and crippled with age. It was bathed in the smothering darkness, random swirling tendrils of mist licking its foundations. If Arthur didn't know better, (and he really truly did, he was just tired that was all), then he would have said the cottage looked, almost, otherworldly, surreal.

Not stopping to contemplate whether the itching feeling in the back of his head had much merit, Arthur lunged forward, slightly frenzied in his haste to reach his destination. As the hut grew increasingly closer, so did the gentle, underlying humming sound, no, _feeling_ that had slithered into Arthur's bones and was making his skin prickle and his head drum. What _was_ that?

Magic, he answered himself. As he got closer, the pungent smell of things rotting and burnt and long forgotten hit him with a staggering force. Covering his nose with his sleeve, Arthur stealthily crept to the deteriorated, sagging door of the "house", keeping in mind, despite the growing fury that was starting to make everything inside of him _tighten_, that this man was a sorcerer. It wouldn't do Merlin any good to get himself killed when he was just this _close_.

Arthur pushed open the door, and was immediately blasted with a sickening plethora of acrid odors that made his eyes water and his throat sting. He couldn't hold back a fit of coughing, and as he walked warily inside, his stomach began to roil with displeasure at the abuse put upon it.

For more reasons than one.

The floor was grossly littered with what looked to be the dashed remnants of a man's illness, blood caking the floor and rancid bile and ashen bits of burnt wisprend. The atmosphere was heavy and dusty, oppressive and just not _right_.

A rotting wooden table stood in the middle of the room, illuminated with a few dying candles. It was laden heavily with crumpled and stained bits of parchment, which were strewn around what seemed to be some sort of strange mechanism. A slender, twisted glass and metal contraption that couldn't have been more than a foot tall, a web of tubes and round bulges. It looked to be used for some kind of alchemy. Not surprising.

Arthur's boots crunched on the leaves and twigs coating the earthen floor as he drew farther inside.

"Hello?" he said, though he saw no one, his heart sinking farther and farther with each breath.

There was no answer.

Just as a suffocating terror began to overtake Arthur from the ever growing doubt in his mind that he would ever find Jacob, a twig snapped somewhere behind him. Arthur whirled around at the sound, and this is probably what saved his life.

He was suddenly tackled by a flailing, scratching, screaming figure. Arthur, caught by surprise, lost his footing and they both crashed to the ground in a struggling tangle. Arthur slapped and punched his wild attacker, but the man was frantic and slippery and mad and he happened to be on top.

Arthur hissed as his head was jerked to the side with a flash of sharp pain on his cheek.

Oh, and he also had a knife.

Roaring with anger Arthur reared back and landed a punch against his assailant's jaw. He summoned his strength and threw his attacker off, the man landed on the ground next to him with a thud and a groan. Arthur scrambled to his feet and pulled his sword from its sheath just as the man managed to stand.

The man whipped around in a crouched position, as if to pounce, and found himself facing Arthur's sword point at his chest. The knife slipped from his hand as he raised both of his above his head. He trembled and giggled nervously before speaking,

"Hey, now. No harm done, huh? I was just a bit startled, that's all. Why don't you put that away before someone gets hurt," his voice was nasal and halting. He was small and skeletal, his face blocky and overly large compared to the rest of him. His brow was pronounced, overshadowing his deep sunken eyes that glimmered colorlessly beneath a curtain of wispy, gray bangs. He was twitching and hunched and his bones stuck out at odd, knobby points, showing signs of serious malnourishment with his shadowed, drawn in stomach and pronounced rib cage. What little clothes he had hung off of him in dirty tatters. Despite all of this, there was something else about him.

He was just, somehow, off. Arthur narrowed his eyes and didn't move an inch,

"Who are you?" he asked, even as the suspicion already forming in his head urged him to lunge forward and show this man that getting hurt would have nothing to do with whether or not a sword was involved.

To Arthur's surprise, the man's face split in a wide grin, and his arms fell to his sides, swinging limply,

"Well…I have many names. Many faces, many names, many people who would be interested in knowing. Why would I tell you?" Arthur clenched his jaw, but his voice came out terrifyingly matter of fact,

"I have been formally _trained _to _skin_…"

"Okay, okay! I see your point," the man cackled, a chilling, inhuman sound. Arthur resisted the urge to fidget at it. Or strangle it away. The man rolled his eyes upward and moved his mouth rapidly, muttering something under his breath, looking exaggeratedly thoughtful. He began to gnash his teeth and Arthur was starting to fear the man had been lost to reality. But then, with a snap of his fingers and a flourishing, clumsy bow, he spoke,

"You might know me as…Jacob. At your servi-_augh_!"

"Do not speak!" Arthur growled, his voice betraying little of the burning, overwhelming malice he felt roiling inside of him as he pressed the sword into the man's shoulder. It was only from calling on the strength of years and years of rigorous training and his desperation to save Merlin was he able to not tear the man to _pieces_, "Your blood will bathe each word. Give me the wisprend antidote, _now_. Or you will rue the day you crawled here from Hell's depths," Arthur felt perverse satisfaction to see fear flash across Jacob's face. What Arthur really wanted to do was show this man _exactly_ what he was capable of. What he wanted to do would be constituted as immoral, horrifying, terrible. He wanted…

But Arthur knew what his first priority was, and it wasn't this man. Merlin was dying, and he had little time left.

Jacob shrugged nonchalantly, and shuffled backwards, Arthur following his every step. He stopped by the table, and reached across it to the base of the strange contraption Arthur had noticed, and plucked something up. He held out his hand, and Arthur saw he held a small bottle with some kind of strange tonic. The liquid inside was swirling, in constant motion and emanated a quiet, almost, imperceptible glow. Arthur was so focused on it, he only spared a thought as to why Jacob had one lying around. He supposed it made sense that he would keep one for himself, just in case.

Jacob smiled, a putrid thing, and Arthur caught sight of his cracked, horrid teeth,

"I hope it's too late," he hissed with pleasure. In one swift motion, Arthur snatched the bottle from the man's hand, reared back his sword, bent at the knees, and sliced it across Jacob's leg, creating a deep, debilitating gash above the ankle. Jacob cried out in pain and fell to the floor, grasping his wound and peering at Arthur with hatred as he gasped through clenched teeth,

"I said, _don't speak_," Arthur said. With that, the king clutched his prize and rushed out the door, knowing he would be back. If Jacob ran, which it seemed unlikely that he would, Arthur would follow the blood trail he'd create.

I hope he does run, Arthur thought as he sprinted through the now pouring rain, I want the hunt.

…..

Merlin was stubborn. He knew this. He'd been told so, in fact, and he found that it was something he was both proud and sorry for. He didn't give in easily; he'd fight tooth and nail against any of his enemies before he'd surrender. It was only because of this stubbornness, he knew, that he wasn't dead yet.

Oh, he would be soon. This was for certain. He could literally _feel_ himself falling away. This past week had been harder for him than he would like to admit. He'd been growing increasingly weaker, his muscles, his lungs his heart his _body_ failing him, and it had been difficult to accept the fact that he was going to die.

At first, he'd been angry. In those few moments where he was alone, when the knights were out of his chambers between their searches, talking about, he knew besides their secrecy, that they were getting nowhere in finding Jacob, he'd tried to do magic. He'd known it wouldn't work. Healing magic was not his forte in the first place, but this wisprend was magically enhanced, tailored especially to destroy. He'd gotten frustrated and furious, and the constant excruciating pain in his chest and stomach and head and, well, everywhere, had only served to heighten these feelings. What he really hated seeing was the knights; Merlin was sure they would kill themselves before he got a chance to die, the way they had been working.

Still, no Jacob had been found. And this is when Merlin had stopped being angry and started being sad. They had tried so hard, so hard for _him_, and it was all for nothing. He would never see Gaius again, or Gwen or Arthur or any of the knights. And those were just the more important people in his life. He would never see any of his servant friends again, or that pretty milkmaid who told him he was handsome. He would never eat another fresh fruit, would never see the sunrise from Killgarah's back, would never save Arthur from another beast, or watch him become a father or grow old. He would never fall in love, or see magic brought back, or Albion united.

In his growing desperation, Merlin had begun to say things he would normally never say. Methodically, he'd managed to have a private moment with each of the knights. He wanted to tell Gwaine he was funny, never mind what they always said, and that he would never know how much Merlin appreciated his infectious laugh. He wanted to tell Elyan that Gwen was proud of him, and that he was a good friend and a brave man. He wanted to tell Percival that Merlin could always count on him, and wanted to thank him and commend him for knowing right from wrong, for working hard and just being a good man. He wanted to tell Leon that he was a pure embodiment of noble, and that Merlin could never hope to achieve his integrity. And he did, he told them, though not as much as he probably should have.

And then, there was Arthur.

Merlin hadn't had the chance to talk to him. He'd known that Arthur was out there trying to find a cure, but Merlin just wanted five minutes, a moment. He needed to tell him some things. He needed to tell him, before it was too late. He could feel himself slipping; the pain was fading, the darkness growing. He was so tired.

And even as the knights surrounded him, watching him as he slipped in and out of waking, he felt at peace, and yet…terrified.

Terrified, yes. He was Emrys, greatest warlock to have ever lived. He was bloody well as powerful as the sun, he could call down lightning, manipulate the earth to his will, commune with dragons.

But he was nineteen years old. And he was too skinny for his age, and he had friends who cared about him, and he cried sometimes. And he missed his mother and he was hurting and he was dying and…_damn it all_ he was scared.

But he was holding on, because Arthur wasn't there yet.

And Merlin was stubborn.

…..

Arthur's heart was everywhere. He could feel it pounding in his chest, his ears, his hands. His breathing was shallow and erratic, his lungs burning with each breath, and his gums aching from the exertion. His legs were on fire, a painful pounding blur as he sprinted with all his might through the trees and the pelting, freezing rain. Lightning and thunder clashed around him, so loud, yet not loud enough to block the train of senseless thoughts rushing through his head.

_Hold on, Merlin. Hold on, just hold on. I'm almost there._

Finally, he broke through the wall of trees separating the forest from the open expanse leading to the city, and saw the lights of Mercy not thirty yards ahead of him through the haze of the storm. Fear and hope clashing together inside of him so hard it knock the breath from his body, he charged forward, his boots thumping in the wet mud and the pumping of his blood providing little warmth against the cold from his soaked clothes.

_Hold on, Merlin. Hold on._

The adrenaline lent to Arthur an extra strength and vitality. He poured everything he had into each step, the thrum of his steps resounding in rapid succession.

Suddenly, he felt his foot catch in something, and he cried out in pain as it twisted and he toppled forward, hitting the ground hard and rolling from his broken momentum. He groaned and painfully sat up, clenching his hand around the bottl-

"No," Arthur muttered, fear crashing into him with the force of a tidal wave, "No, no, no, no…" he ran his hands through the surrounding mud, glaring fruitlessly into the dark. Where was it? Oh, God, no, where was it?

Arthur must have scrabbled around in the muck with a throbbing, most likely sprained ankle, searching madly for the antidote that he'd so clumsily dropped, for at least ten minutes. It might as well have been ten centuries. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

"Aha!" Arthur cried, his voice cracking with glee as his hand, blessedly, closed around something small and glass. He wiped away the wet filth and let out a breath of relief at the sight of the glowing concoction.

Not wasting another precious moment, Arthur fumbled to his feet and resumed his sprint, refusing to slow down because of the pain shooting up his leg with each left step.

_Hold on…_

…

Gwaine rubbed a hand up and down his face breathing deeply, in and out, and then folded them and rested his mouth against his knuckles. He couldn't look away, he just couldn't. Merlin was on death's door, his breathing becoming shallower with each passing second, hitching every now and then, like someone who was weeping.

Gwaine had never defied reality before. He was a man who took life's successes and sorrows in stride; he never fought or lashed out with anger when something didn't turn out fairly. Life wasn't fair, that was it.

But it was different, now. Merlin was different, Merlin was everything to him. Merlin was his only friend, his closest companion, his idol. Gwaine had never met someone so pure of heart, so powerful and yet harboring a hatred of corruption. Gwaine had seen Merlin cheer a weeping person with a smile and a nod of understanding, topple his enemies with a casual wave of his hand. He'd counseled kings, repaired destiny time and time again, repaired hearts too broken, at cost to his own soul.

Gwaine didn't deserve him as a friend.

Gwaine felt the tears begin to well. His breathing was shaky, and so were his hands. Why Merlin? Bloody hell, why him?

Suddenly, Merlin's eyes flickered open, and they darted about the room, landing on the door, and then on Gwaine. Dying, weak and waning as a dried leaf, Merlin miraculously summoned the strength to give Gwaine one small, fond smile.

And Gwaine couldn't let himself cry. He couldn't. Merlin was still trying to be strong for him, even now. He needed Gwaine to smile back.

And so, he did.

…

Arthur felt he might faint from relief as he caught sight of the brothel, the light from its windows illuminating the rain pelting against its walls. Let me be on time…not too late, not too late.

Arthur crashed through the front door, not stopping to close it behind him as he rushed for the stairs. He sprinted upward, slipping and scrabbling as his soaked, filthy state and injured foot threatened to send him toppling backwards.

He skidded to a halt outside their chamber, and threw open the door before stepping in.

The knights all turned with various expressions of sadness as they turned to see their king, which then turned to bewilderment at the sight of him holding a bottle.

Arthur paid them no heed and rushed to Merlin's bedside, happier than was healthy to see his eyes open, his chest still rising and falling, albeit, barely.

"Arthur…" he rasped, his voice quiet, yet urgent. Arthur ignored him and slid his hand underneath his neck, lifting his head upwards and pulling off the cork of the bottle with his teeth before pressing it to Merlin's lips,

"Drink this," he said. Merlin did, his face pinched with agony as he did so. But Arthur couldn't regret it, Merlin was going to live. He wanted to dance, and almost did, except that Merlin finally drained the bottle and he had to tell him,

"Everything's fine now, Merlin, see? You're okay, you're okay," a grin split his face as he panted. He touched his hand to Merlin's face, his shoulder, soaking in his presence, his life. Arthur turned to the others, expecting to see smiles of relief, or joy, or at least looks of surprise. But they were all looking away, their faces etched with pain. Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion,

"Wha-?" he asked, turning back to Merlin, but the boy was just smiling at him, his eyes filled with an impenetrable sadness and, yet, peace,

"Yeah, dollophead," he said, weakly raising one hand to rest it on Arthur's forearm, "It's gonna be okay," Arthur smiled again, hope filling him even as a strange dread tried to staunch it.

Suddenly, Merlin's face contorted in agony, and he erupted into a horrifying coughing fit that sent Arthur's face and stomach falling with confusion and alarm,

"What's happening? Why isn't it working?" he whipped around to his knights but none of them answered, just stared at him with grief or looked away.

"Arthur," Merlin said, gasping in one painful, fragile breath after another, "It's too late," He smiled forcedly, his eyes growing bright with unshed tears.

"No," Arthur said, shaking his head, "No, it can't be. I got the antidote, you can't - don't…," his voice trembled and gave out, and all he could do was say one thing. One thing that sounded so broken and desperate that he hoped beyond all hope it would keep his friend here, would make this all go away, would fix it all, "_Please_, Merlin,"

A single tear fell down Merlin's face, his impossibly pale face, and his voice was so unbearably faint, weak, Arthur could feel his life slipping through his fingers, and nothing he could do would stop it,

"It's okay…A-Arthur...," he grinned, his eyes shining with tears and fondness even as the light in them began to waver, "You'll still…be a great…king…without me," Arthur shook his head harder, clutching Merlin's hand,

"No," he refused, "No, you can't,"

"Don't…," Merlin said, his chest falling shortly now, too many seconds passing between each breath, "Don't…be…a prat," Arthur gasped out one choked, fragile sob and could only watch, helplessly.

Merlin's breath hitched, and the light in his eyes flickered and faded. One last shuddering breath escaping him as his hand went limp in Arthur's. His chest fell with a gentle finality, and didn't rise again.

The End...Just kidding! Joking, joking, please don't murder me in my sleep! :D I promise this is not the end, please do NOT go away. It's not over, folks! Did I say this was a death fic? No? Then don't give up on me just yet. :D Please **Review! I'm really anxious to know what you thought, like a ton! **I aspire to be published someday, so it means a lot to me. Thanks again for all of your support, you guys are epic!

PS: Okay, so I need to rant on the Dark Tower. Spoiler alert! What. The. Heck?! That was awful, they made Gwen a traitor. SERIOUSLY? Two hooded women meeting in the night, plotting against the king. I mean, how cliched and repetitive can you GET? They have totally botched Arthur, now. He is superfluously thick; Merlin claims he can smell the sea and he doesn't act at ALL suspicious? They've turned Arthur into a supermodel! Every expression he makes is carefully manufactured; he has his "anxious" face, and his "amused" face. He never actually looks _anxious_ or _amused_. And then when Elyan dies? He was completely stoic! Oh my gosh, they're supposed to have this whole "brotherhood" thing, and he doesn't even have the decency to look partially dismayed? I'm sorry, but these writers are being complete _idiots_ with this season. I want to go over there and slap them silly! They have Colin Morgan and Bradley James and they are totally ruining their own show. Merlin is a good show, or was, at least, but it could be GREAT if the writers would just get a clue. Unless Gwen is under some kind of spell, I'm quitting the show. Urgh, why does nothing good last?

Okay, I'm done. :D Have a nice day!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Sorry this one took so long. :D Thanksgiving break has really brought out the lazy beast in me. Also, forgive me for this chapter's shortness. But, I thought this was a good place to end it...so, yeah. hope you enjoy!

PS: Oh! And, remember, I implore you to read the whole chapter before going away, because I did _not_ say this was a death fic. But, nor did I say it wasn't...Anyhow, please make sure to read all of it. :D Okay, toodles!

...

Arthur was an exposed nerve. Every breath drawn hit him like an anvil. Every small sound was like a knife to the gut. Every single little bit of existence brought unimaginable waves of agony ricocheting through his mind and soul and heart. His stupid, bloody, _broken_ heart.

Inside, Arthur was a massive hurricane of pain and grief and guilt and disbelief. He was a giant swirling black relentless storm of denial and fear and anger.

On the outside, he was silent, in shock. His hand still resting on Merlin's fragile, cold wrist. His eyes still locked on Merlin's unmoving chest, waiting for it rise, waiting for a twitch, a fluttering eyelid, a shaky breath, a lopsided smile or a joke. But nothing happened.

And Arthur wasn't able to accept it. As the endless seconds ticked by, he was locked in a bloody internal battle, as what his mind knew tried to raze down the positivity of Arthur's willful absolute _truth_, that Merlin could not. Be. Dead. But there he was. And he was cold, and he was still, and his eyes were open and unseeing and lifeless and no longer dim but completely _void_.

And then Gwaine began to cry.

And that was it for Arthur. The dam burst, the line snapped, the mountainous peak of overwhelming emotions toppled downwards and outwards in the form of icy shards of pain and guilt and grief and rage that made his throat hurt and his eyes burn.

He screamed and thrashed and beat Merlin's form, because it wasn't a corpse and people reacted to pain, and Merlin _would_. And the words exploded from his mouth like a living torrent of misery,

"NO! No, Merlin, you selfish _bastard_. Wake up!" and yet Merlin still did not move. And the knights were grabbing his arms and pulling him back and begging him to stop and Arthur felt his heart burst as he lifted his face to the heavens and pleaded with a voice he'd never thought could be his own,

"Please, please take me instead! This is my fault, _please_," And nothing happened. The realization hit Arthur like a bolt of lightning, and he balled his fists and began pounding Merlin's chest even as he was wrestled backwards by his so-called comrades.

"Milord, _please_," Leon said by Arthur's ear, and Arthur could hear the tears in his voice and he turned with a snarl to see them glistening in wet tracks down his face, "Please, let him rest in peace," He sounded so _defeated_.

Something shattered inside of Arthur. And he was sure it must have been his heart. He found he was resisting the urge to black out.

The knights let his arms go when they realized he wasn't fighting anymore, and Arthur fell backwards into the chair, because the sadness was settled in him like an impossibly heavy stone and his legs just weren't strong enough. _Arthur _wasn't strong enough.

He buried his head in his hands and pulled at the roots of his hair, and fought the giant, dry sobs that began to tear through his gut. But it was like trying to fight an open, throbbing _bleeding_ wound; it was impossible. So Arthur shook with their force, and it hurt and the same phrase fell from his mouth in a hopeless pointless mantra that he just couldn't stop,

"I'm sorry. I'm so, _so _sorry, Merlin. I tried. Oh, God, I _tried_. I'm sorry," Arthur listened to the soft weeping of Gwaine and Leon, and the crushing guilt squeezed the breath from his chest and Arthur felt a fresh wave of pain as he remembered Merlin struggling to breathe. Merlin coughing blood. Merlin fearful at the sight of it. Merlin rage filled and trembling and crying.

Merlin teasing and slapping and calling him a 'prat.' Merlin exhausted and reading and collapsing onto his bed after defeating a rampaging griffin. Merlin, stalwart, smiling, spinning tales of destiny and friendship and a higher calling. Merlin embracing Gwen and Arthur watching and grinning. Merlin… Arthur's best friend as he lay dying, telling him it would be okay.

As Arthur remembered and Arthur thought, he began to tremble for an entirely different reason. His breathing steadied his hands clenched into fists, and he sat up and looked around, tinges of red playing at the edges of his vision.

Gwaine's shoulders shook as he cried, his face buried in his hands. Percival was like a statue in his seat, his hands white from gripping the arms of the chair, his mouth open, his face drained of any color, his eyes wide and disbelieving as they remained locked on the still form of Merlin. Elyan was curled up like a child in the corner of the room, his face etched with pain as if from his inability to cry, his eyes dry. Leon sat on the edge of the bed. And as the raw rage in Arthur grew and pulsed like a living wild thing, he reached forward and closed Merlin's eyes silently, his hand lingering for just a moment.

They suddenly all looked at him, and Arthur realized he was on his feet, and he wasn't surprised because the white hot fury burning inside of him might have lashed out or destroyed him if he didn't start moving, _now_. And then he spoke, and his voice was laced with the poison and blazing ice, and rang with the sound of a thousand wild fires burning and of sharp steel on sharp steel, or human flesh,

"I'm going after Jacob. Do not try and stop me," Arthur knew he was visibly trembling. As he had been expecting, the knights all stood, their faces taking on similar tones of indefinable rage and resolve. Arthur smiled, and it wasn't a true smile and he knew that it was a frightening, evil sight. But he didn't care.

Elyan walked forward to Merlin's bed, grabbed the edge of the sheet where it was folded, and drew it up over the boy's head. The translucent fabric settled into the grooves and curves of Merlin's face, taking the form of his cheekbones and nose and Arthur didn't know why but the sight nearly broke him down again. But he didn't cry. He stored away the thoughts of Merlin's death, and concentrated every fiber of his being on the desire for vengeance racing through his veins.

Without a word exchanged, they all turned towards the door and began filing out.

There was blood to spill, and Arthur could taste it.

…..

Adelle didn't try to stop the tears.

Normally, she would have. She would have fought tooth and nail not to feel, not to hurt. She couldn't afford attachment; betrayal was too common, grief too distracting. But it was different this time.

Adelle had seen Arthur's face when she had said she was sorry. It hadn't been a pretty sight. The grief in his eyes had nearly crippled her.

And she was sorry.

Not just for them. Yes, she was sorry for the knights. Sorry that they had lost someone so dear when they themselves seemed like such honest, good souls. Sorry that Merlin, a purer, kinder version of man than she had ever seen or would ever see again, had to die in such a terrible way.

But she was also sorry for herself. She had been blessed with a few occasions in which to converse with Merlin. She knew him for almost exactly four days.

She would still miss him.

Her footsteps echoed in her head as she tramped up the stairs, silent tears falling down her face to mix with the rain from her dripping hair as she approached the door to Merlin's chambers. She knew he was dead. From the way the knights had crashed out of the brothel. The looks on their faces. They almost made her shudder to see. She'd run out, and for some reason she didn't know, followed them. She'd followed them to the edge of the city, and watched as they sprinted grimly into the woods, radiating power and grief and rage.

Afterwards, she'd gone back to the brothel, and taken some time to herself, knowing she was putting off the inevitable. She had to see the body

Adelle stopped outside the door, and had to take a moment to brace herself, as if for a blow. Sighing out a long, shuddering breath, she pulled back her shoulders and pushed open the door.

Only to see Merlin alive and well, though still shaking and pale, standing somewhat unsteadily and with a huge grin lighting up on his face when he saw her.

"Hullo,"

…..

Merlin wasn't dead. At least, he didn't think so. He _did_ wake to white surrounding him, but it was rather dirty and rough and it made his face itch. Oh, a blanket.

He raised his hands, marveling at how weak he felt, like a newborn…something. He shook his head. It was hard to think. Numbly, he drew the sheet away from his face and gazed around with bleary vision, smacking his lips and feeling very thirsty.

And then it hit him. Like a thunderbolt.

With sudden renewed strength, Merlin bolted to a sitting position and clawed at his chest. It was gone…the pain was just _gone_! He barked out a laugh, relief and jubilation rushing through him like a warm wind, and he felt tears sting his eyes.

He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead and he was better!

Running a hand through his hair he fought the urge to weep, knowing that the knights would probably teas-

Snapping his neck upwards, Merlin glanced about the very empty, very knight_less_ room. Memories hit him like a physical blow. He had been dying. He had _died._

No. No, he hadn't died. His magic…it had done something. It had forced him to retreat, his entire physical self put on hold as his spirit took refuge in it. His magic had worked with the antidote, had healed him. He remembered the dark, the slumber like state as his body was slowly restored.

Of course, the knights couldn't have known all of this. Merlin himself had thought he was dying. He had even said goodbye to Arthu-

Oh…crap.

Merlin threw away the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed. They were weak too, and he was hit with a sudden bout of nausea, so he swayed a bit, but didn't fall.

And then the door opened.

Merlin glanced up, and upon seeing who it was couldn't help but smile with joy and more than a little amusement at the look on her face,

"Hullo,"

Adelle was soaked to the bone, her hair plastered to her face where her eyes were noticeably red and puffy and _very_ wide open. She cupped her hand to her mouth, and let out a small squeal,

"You-You're alive?" Merlin felt his heart drop a little,

"Yeah, I know, I know, I'll explain later. But where's Arthur?"

She didn't answer, seemingly still paralyzed with shock. Merlin walked forward and grabbed her wrists, looking into her eyes,

"Adelle…where's Arthur?" he spoke slowly, deliberately, and Adelle's mouth clamped shut as she came back to herself, as if from a spell,

"They-They went into the woods, west of here. That…that was over an hour ago, Merlin,"

Merlin stood in silence for a split second, stunned. And then he was bolting for the door, not fast enough in his weakened state, despite his motivation. The knights thought he was dead. They thought…Oh, God, what were they planning on-?

Jacob.

Merlin burst out into the rain, lightning split the sky above him, and a thunderous crack shook his frame. His bare feet squelched in the freezing mud, his thin clothes whipping about him in the torrential wind.

He ran.

...

A/N: Hope you liked it! Please tell me what you thought and **Review! **Okay, I know Arthur's reaction was very dramatic, but I stand by it and hope it wasn't too much for your guys' tastes. :D There are many different versions I have in mind of Arthur's reaction to Merlin's death, but, for this fic, I decided to try my hand at a more poetic, drama ridden version.

Thank you all so much for your support!


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Hello? Is anyone still out there? Sorry this one took so long, I've been a bit preoccupied and a lot lazy. Hopefully, you guys like it. :D I am a bit proud, to be honest. I hope the encounter with Jacob was up to par. Okay then, onward!

...

Jacob wasn't where Arthur had left him. The hovel was void of human life, or whatever was Jacob's substitute.

Arthur didn't mind though. In fact, it was ideal. He wanted Jacob to hurt, to run scared and grasp onto slippery strands of hope in the dark and cold. He wanted him to pant and shiver, drenched in rain and sweat and his own chilled blood.

Arthur followed the trail of his departure, obvious even in this blackness and storm, knowing that the clumsiness of his fleeing was indicative of much suffering and delirium in his current state. Jacob was suffering.

Good.

Arthur dwelled on these thoughts. He let dark fantasies of revenge consume his entire being, spreading outward from the center of his soul to overtake his arms and legs, so that he hardly felt the cold, or the wind…he didn't feel Merlin's death. If he focused on rage, he wouldn't have time for grief. At some point, he knew he would have to accept what had happened. He would feel sorrow and pain in a way that would choke him.

There would be terrible silences, without Merlin there to-

No, don't think on that. No.

Jacob, bloodied, battered, broken, bruised.

Focus.

…..

Merlin wasn't going to make it in time. He knew this. Each breath was like a hot stab to the chest, each running step sent a whittling pain rushing up his leg. He was healed, but still weak and tender and he knew this running could _not _be doing him any good. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't let Arthur or the knights do this. It would destroy them, and they would be forever filled with crippling regret.

The branches and brambles hit and tripped him as he sprinted through the woods, unsure of exactly where he was going and even less sure of what he would do once he got there. All he knew was that he couldn't let them do what it was he thought they were going to do.

Finally, reluctantly, he coasted to an inevitable stop, unable to go on any longer. He doubled over his knees and drew in deep, pained breaths, shivering in the rain and frozen air around him. He was really tired of shivering.

Suddenly, he began to feel a strange kind of frustration rise up inside of him. He'd spent the past three weeks with one foot planted firmly in the grave. He'd thrown up blood and bile, had his best friend's corpse haunt his waking hours and those few hours of sleep he'd somehow managed to have. He'd hallucinated and wept and starved himself and God knows what else, all the while putting his friends through a slow kind of torture on his behalf.

No matter what else happened that night, he was _not_ going to let them do this to themselves.

Not after everything.

With a steel-like resolve replacing any other emotion, uncertainty or franticness, Merlin stood straight and faced his eyes and the palms of his hands towards the sky.

"_Awegan mec __æt þára_ _hwæt_ _feorhþearfa_ _mec_," he chanted into the dark, his voice guttural and throaty, strong and pronounced.

Almost immediately, a warm glow began to emanate outward from his chest. Outlining the silhouette beneath his sodden clothes, tendrils of golden, ethereal light slithered up and down his arms, tingling his spine and seeping warmth into his bones. Soon the light began to crack and lash out like lightning, soft sparks of power dissipating the rain and dark around him until he stood in a protective, ebbing, swaying, flowing globe of light and magic and heat…power.

Merlin could taste it on his tongue, feel it spreading to his fingertips and shining from his wide open eyes. It filled him.

With a building fizzle and then a tumultuous clap, louder than the thunder and brighter than the lightning filling the sky around him, Merlin disappeared.

….

When they finally found Jacob, Arthur had formulated a thousand times over in his mind exactly how the encounter would go.

He wanted his rage to be calculated, terrifying and precise. He wanted Jacob to look at him and be horrified in his last, agonizing moments. He wanted to see his eyes widen with fear and realization, just before the killing stroke.

He would make him say Merlin's name. Again and again.

Jacob lay in a twisted, boneless heap at the base of a wide tree, smeared in wet grime, and folded in on himself so that Arthur could see the slash he'd created. He grimly reveled proudly in observing his handiwork.

As Arthur and the knights stalked closer, Arthur was sure each step he made was reverberating through the earth's bedrock. He was sure that his rage was making the world tremble, the air deadly still. He no longer noticed the storm around him, the knights behind him. He no longer knew the pain in his ankle, the grief in his heart. All he knew was fury. Black, murderous, _burning_ fury.

And then Arthur was standing above him. Jacob whimpered and giggled in random turns, mud pressed against his strange, repugnant face, voice lost slightly in the thunder and the pounding of Arthur's own heart as he spoke in a rasping, strangled voice,

"What…took you so long?"

Arthur didn't know how it happened, but Jacob was suddenly pressed up into the tree above him, gasping, Arthur's hands harboring a white knuckled grip on the front of his shirt as his breaths became short and explosive.

"_You_…" he hissed, and the word was laced with such an intense hatred that Jacob's face went slack with terror, "You will payfor what you've done, you _craven worm_,"

Arthur reared back a fist, and dealt, with raw luster, the first blow of many.

…..

Merlin was being torn apart.

That was the only way he could describe the sensation. He was thrust into a million pieces, than thrown back together, disassembled and restored over and over and over again. He flipped and twisted and barreled over in a black torrent of violent nothingness, not knowing where he was and far too focused on the agony and nausea he felt to think much on it.

It seemed to last forever.

But it didn't. Merlin didn't realize it until the world stopped spinning but he was still, and he was no longer in the dark, dimensionless funnel he'd created from his magic. He knew he'd just bent time, or reality, or matter…he wasn't really sure, exactly.

All he knew was that he was standing, standing in the same bloody storm from before he'd used the spell, swaying from the nausea of sheer _power_ and golden light spiraling around, beside, _within_ him.

When he opened his eyes, or, rather, when he could see again, he was greeted with a sight that would haunt his dreams forever.

The knights were looming over a whimpering, shaking, bleeding figure, bruises and cuts and various injuries covering his nearly naked form. They all stared at him in openmouthed shock, a terrible silence filling the air, only to be broken by the occasional clash of thunder. Their eyes were wide and filled with absolute disbelief. Not tears or guilt or wariness, or even fury.

Just a complete inability to accept the sight before them.

Arthur was the worst of them all. Merlin thought he saw tears glistening in his eyes.

This was going to be difficult.

….

Before Arthur had a chance to do more than punch Jacob's face, they were all on top of the drug dealer. They rained blows upon him, relishing in his cries of pain and flinches and struggles. Arthur went for his face, roaring madly and unable to care as he relished in the warm blood on his knuckles, and the feel of something snapping beneath his fist. They kicked his ribs and stomach, pounded his arms and whatever else they could reach.

Arthur was a madman. A rampaging, berserk, irrational madman. But he didn't stop. He was tasting revenge, and it was sweet.

The whole thing must have lasted no more than ten seconds before the light came.

It was the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen, a swirling gleaming tornado of purity and…magic, which lit up the surrounding forest and sent a rush of warmth through Arthur's chest. The hatred inside of him seemed to dissolve, somehow, and he could only stare at the brilliant flashes of color and power and blazing glory. He felt tears come to his eyes.

It was so beautiful.

And then it started to hurt.

The light reminded him of…

And then, Arthur saw it.

No, no, that was impossible, no!

But there he was.

It was Merlin.

The figure stood in the center of the light storm, his hair whipping wildly about his upturned face, fine bones illuminated by the living golden burn of his wide open eyes. His clothes flapped around his gently swaying frame, his palms turned upward at his sides. The light spilled from his fingertips and the ends of his hair and from his slightly opened mouth. An aura of power and swirling, gold dust flew around his strong, straight form. This was _Emrys_.

No traces of blood or sickness in his appearance in the slightest.

Arthur couldn't let himself believe, not for a second. He fought the nectarous relief trying to spread through him, fought his immediate urge to rush forward and hold his friend. It was an apparition. A ghost, a spirit. No, it _couldn't_ be him.

But then the light began to fade, the torrent of power and magic winding downward, spiraling to the forest floor in shimmering, reluctant waves.

The light faded from Merlin's face, also, his eyes returning to the normal, startling blue they usually were.

His arms fell to his sides, and Arthur realized absently that the storm had miraculously stopped, leaving nothing but an eerie calm and silence in its wake.

Despite his wariness, despite his fear to lose him again, to feel hope and then have it squashed, the name passed Arthur's lips with a certain, incomplete wish,

"Merlin?"

Merlin smiled at him and scratched the back of his head sheepishly, and it was such an awkward, to goofy, guilty smile that Arthur knew with a burst of complete joy that it could only ever belong to the real thing.

His heart could only soar.

…

Merlin saw Arthur's face go alight with an elated smile,

"_Mer_lin!" he called, his voice heavy with relief, and happiness radiating from down to his innermost core.

Merlin returned the smile, and took a step forward, but the expression slipped off his face almost as quickly as it had come. A figure was running up behind Arthur, a dagger raised high above his head, and his face contorted in a repulsive sneer as he let out a high-pitched shriek of rage.

He was aiming for Arthur's heart.

Merlin didn't think, breath, or blink. One minute he was facing Arthur, and then with a flash of gold he was behind the king's attacker, his hand closed firmly around the man's raised wrist and his legs planted firmly apart.

Jacob, as Merlin assumed him to be, cried out in alarm and surprise, but then it turned into a pained scream as Merlin purposefully bent his wrist and arm behind him in a painful lock, then pushed his face up against the nearest tree, unable to not feel happy as Jacob's face scraped the wet, rough bark,

"Get your hands off m-!" the man shrieked.

"Listen to me, you _repulsive bricon_," Merlin interrupted, pushing him farther into the trunk and listening to him hiss in pain, "The only thing keeping you alive right now is my superior amount of self-control, so I would suggest you keep your comments stuck firmly _behind_ your rotting teeth where they can't foul the air. Do I make myself _clear_?"

Jacob cried out and nodded, clenching his jaw in pain. Merlin tossed him into the dirt with no small amount of disgust.

He hadn't even fully turned around before the punch landed.

...

A/N: I wouldn't call this a cliffhanger. Not technically. :) I hope you guys liked it! Please post a **Review**, 'cause it honestly just makes me so so so happy :D It would be absolutely wonderful if I could reach 300 reviews this time around. Alas, it is probably not going to happen. Thank you guys all so much for your kind words and lovely reviews! There are only going to be a couple more chapters, so the adventure's almost over. Thank you for joining me on it!

PS: Don't worry, there will be more of the knights' fury towards Jacob a little later. :) Things will be explained, too, like, how wisprend even got into Camelot, why Merlin's teleportation was so spectacular, etc.

PPS: My thoughts on the Merlin season ending:

To tell the truth, I am at peace with it. I stopped really liking the show around the third season, and just kept watching in hopes of improvement. Plus, just watching Colin Morgan is something of a pleasure. ;) I think the show has been going in a downward spiral, accelerating in doing so the farther we moved along through the series. The writers have become incapable of writing it, and, though it is sad and the show could have potentially been amazing, I think that them quitting it is the best decision they have made in a long while. This way, I can have some closure, move on with my life, and continue writing fiction about it, without ending up angry and disappointed every time I see a new episode. So, don't grieve to hard my fellow fanfictioners, Merlin will live on in our stories, and in a better way than was ever done on TV. :D


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: OK! So, here is the next chapter. I don't have much to say, except thanks to all of you for your wondrous feedback. Onward!

...

Only Merlin. Only Merlin could whip Arthur's emotions about so painfully and heartlessly without even trying. Arthur hadn't slept in forty eight hours, couldn't remember when he'd last had a full meal. He'd twisted his ankle, picked his way around the still alive bodies of drug abused wretches, beaten a man from an overwhelming vengeful desire. He was soaked, exhausted, bloodied, in pain, completely and utterly drained.

And here was Merlin. Alive, healthy. Hell, he'd just _teleported_ and saved Arthur's life _again_!

And it was just so unfair, because he'd made Arthur watch him die.

Arthur was a man who liked to have things in control. He didn't just lose his calm. And here he'd experienced every single bloody emotion that existed in the universe with crippling potency in the last few hours. They swirled and churned and made him dizzy, and so he retreated into that default refuge for whenever Merlin saw fit to torture him with grief and worry.

Anger filled the fibers of his subconscious, and it was with a kind of jubilant fury that his fist was flying before he could stop it.

"Oww!" Merlin cried out indignantly as Arthur hit his arm, and he stumbled backwards.

Arthur felt hot tears fill his eyes, and he shoved Merlin on both shoulders, almost knocking him over,

"Idiot," he whispered furiously balling his fists and letting a moment pass, then pushing him again. Merlin had a strangely guilty look on his face as he tripped and nearly fell from the hit, almost, resigned.

"Idiot," Arthur rasped again, voice quiet and cracking slightly as he raised a tigh fist over his head. Merlin flinched and fell back a step, hunching his shoulders near his ears and shutting his eyes partially in preparation for the blow to come. Arthur was suddenly bombarded with similar images of Merlin sick and weak and shrinking from his touch/ And this reminded him of the fact that Merlin was here, colored and powerful, bright eyed and so completely _alive_ that...that…

Arthur raised his fist, coiling it backwards and breathing loudly through his nose like some mad animal. Merlin stiffened and closed his eyes. Arthur felt himself waver, the anger draining from him completely, and as his punch fell forward, looking as if to strike, he instead wrapped his arm over his friend's neck and around his back, pulling him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in the dirty raven hair, breathing in the scent as Merlin hesitated in surprise and then hugged him back. Arthur was covered in mud, Merlin was wearing a nightshirt, and they both stank of too much time passed without a bath.

Neither could care less.

Arthur reveled in the feel of the steady, smooth, _strong_ expansions of Merlin's chest as he breathed against Arthur, and he was afraid to let go. Ever.

"Idiot," Arthur said again, his voice tremulous and brimming with the relief he felt, "Don't ever, ever do that again,"

He then pulled back, and smiled slightly, glaring down at the still form of Jacob, who was staring up at him with simultaneous anger and terror,

"Stay there," Arthur hissed, and Jacob nodded stiffly, sidling up to the base of the tree and wrapping his arms around his knees. He looked so pitiful, bruised and ragged and bleeding, Arthur almost felt sorry for him.

Almost. And it was only Merlin's living presence by his side that kept him from lunging again. Merlin had a tendency to remind him of what was the right thing to do.

It was rather irritating.

Merlin raised his hand, and muttered discreetly under his breath. Jacob's eyes closed, and he slumped and fell to his side, unconscious.

Arthur was about to ask something, when he was shoved roughly to the side by a rampaging figure, and fumbled backward, almost landing on his behind.

Gwaine was currently suffocating Merlin in a giant bear hug.

"You're alive," he shrieked delightedly, holding Merlin out at arm's length and then hugging him again, laughing and swinging him around, even as the warlock squirmed.

"I'm glad to see you too, Gwaine," he wheezed, patting the man's arm.

As Arthur watched the other knights rush forward and hug and slap and laugh and, in Gwaine's case, even start to cry a bit, he was filled with a sense of wonderment. Merlin's face was colored, his eyes bright and awake. He was still thinner than normal, still a bit unsteady looking. But he stood tall and proud and he was just _alive_. The sight was so familiar to Arthur, and yet he had grown so used to being without it.

Arthur couldn't express how much he had missed it.

Percival picked Merlin up off the ground in a huge embrace, and then he was passed along to each knight in turn, touched affectionately on the shoulder by a teary eyed Leon, swung over Gwaine's shoulder and spun around as Elyan ruffled his hair, all of them hooting and cheering.

Arthur felt a giant smile crack his face, because for the first time in three weeks, three weeks that might as well have been years, he knew that everything was going to be okay.

Still, he didn't move more than five feet away from the warlock.

You can never be too careful with the things you care about. Especially, the thing you care about the most.

…

A log collapsed inward on its ashen middle, disrupting the campfire and sending up a cloud of orange sparks. Merlin watched them spiral upward and then fade into the night. He breathed in deeply, drawing his knees in closer to his chest as the mineral scent of fallen rain and acrid smoke filled his nostrils.

Merlin didn't tell anyone, but he was feeling rather strange.

Not strange in a bad way, no. He felt sort of dizzy, light, like he could conquer the world without hardly even trying. Like he could just take off with the breeze. His magic buzzed inside of him, filling his head and tingling his limbs as he stared into the dancing flames of their impromptu campfire. They sat in a clearing outside of Jacob's hovel where they had gone to find rope, in order to bind the wretch's feet and hands, and tie him to a tree, disgusted by the fact it was so close, but realizing they needed some time to rest and warm up, and sort out a few things.

Truth be told, Merlin knew it was mostly for his sake. Despite his miraculous recovery, the knights kept shooting him not-so-discreet glances of concern and watchfulness, and his sudden magical display had done nothing to qualm their fears. If anything, they were slightly unnerved by the whole thing, as if they expected Merlin to collapse after using so much energy. It might have been endearing, if it weren't so annoying.

Arthur was the worst. He sat right next to Merlin, their shoulders almost touching, and anytime Merlin shifted away, he would just follow with a pointed glare, so Merlin resigned himself to the close contact.

A year ago, Merlin would have been ecstatic at the show of affection. Now, he just felt smothered. When had the knights all become such mother hens? That was Gwen's job.

Merlin felt his heart flutter at the thought of her, of Camelot, Gaius…home. How long had they been gone? It felt like forever. They had gone weeks without witches, magical monsters, or kings with chips on their shoulders.

God, he missed it.

He chuckled drily at the irony, but regretted it as four intense stares were sent his way. Leon's was conspicuously absent, as his silhouetted form could be seen a ways away, crouched in front of a, now conscious, Jacob, talking to him in low murmurs. Merlin was glad he couldn't hear them from where he was. Something about Jacob just…unsettled him. Maybe, it was his wolfish grin.

Of course, Merlin wasn't the only one working hard to stay away from the piteous man. It was by some tacit agreement that no one missing Leon's exceptional self-control and cool temper was to go closer than fifteen feet.

Even then, Leon seemed to be having trouble containing himself. Every few moments, his finger would be in Jacob's face, trembling as his face contorted into a mask of deadly controlled fury.

A few more silent moments passed, filled with but the crackling of the fire and the occasional faint whimper or chilling cackle from Jacob's figure.

Leon then stood, and made his way over to the fire. As he stepped out of the shadows, the light illuminated and intensified the dark circles under his eyes. Merlin winced to know that he had been the cause.

"Well," Leon said, collapsing into a seated position by the fire, and resting his arm over both knees, "He's insane,"

Arthur snorted and ran a hand through his hair,

"Tell me something I don't know," he muttered. Leon awarded him with a small smile, and shifted his weight around,

"He's also dying,"

A heavy silence ensued. Merlin swallowed hard, feeling Arthur tense beside him,

"Is he…" the king said, "Is it because of…" he faded off. Leon shook his head in answer,

"No, it is not our doing. You've seen the state he's in," Leon waved his hand and glanced backward at the bound figure, "Man's completely mad, but from what I could tell from his ramblings, he had cured himself of the addiction, as the rumors say, but he got himself on it again about three years ago," here, his face wrinkled in disgust, "Said something about wanting to make his last impression on the world. He sent several people out, carrying his wisprend with them, and they sold it or forced it onto as many as they could. They're the reason for what we saw closer to home,"

Merlin furrowed his brow in confusion, and would have asked what they were talking about, but could literally feel the anger radiating off of Arthur's dangerously still form,

"You mean Selina? She was a part of this?" Leon shook his head again,

"Not quite. Apparently, he'd taken her husband hostage, threatened to kill him if she didn't comply. He sent her straight to Camelot, and hired a man to follow far behind, with orders to…kill her, once she'd finished her job," A heave feeling of sorrow accompanied his words, and Merlin felt guilt gnawing at his insides. Oh God, the woman had children. What would become of them? Merlin had seen in her eyes that goodness, that intelligence. She must have noticed she was being followed.

Even on her way to death she had made sure to write that note, so justice would prevail, in the end.

"And what of her husband?" Merlin said thickly. Leon shook his head, his eyes filled with sadness and anger,

"Gone. Jacob killed him, as well,"

Merlin didn't realize he had stood until Arthur's hand was on his shoulder, holding him back,

"No, Merlin," he said through gritted teeth, "We will not soil ourselves, we won't be like him. Trust me, I know," he squeezed the shaking warlock's shoulder, "It won't help anyone. He will pay, Merlin. He _will_. But the right way,"

Merlin inhaled through his nose, letting the fury seep out of him. Or, rather, retreat farther inside, where it could brew quietly. It would never go away.

Never.

With Arthur's gentle nudging, he sat back down, and rubbed a hand up and down his face, sighing heavily into the cold air. When he looked back up, he was surprised to see the knights all staring at him with open awe.

"What?" he growled, annoyed.

"Merlin!" Gwaine cried, aghast, "You're glowing!" Merlin frowned at him, turning as Percival spoke up,

"It's true. Just like when you appeared,"

Merlin looked down at his hands, and felt his jaw drop at the sight of ebbing waves of gold and white light tracing up and down his arms and weaving about his fingers. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, and the light slowly, surely dimmed. And then he was back to normal.

"I'm sorry," he said, keeping his eyes closed, and pinching the bridge of his nose, "I'm having trouble…focusing. I haven't used magic in so long i-it's as if it's…I don't know, liberating? It's just been building up, I-I don't…"

"It's okay, Merlin," Arthur said, sidling away a bit for the first time that night, smiling, "we understand,"

Merlin returned the gesture, and as he watched the men around him settle in for the night, wrapping up in their cloaks around the fire, he realized he knew it was true.

They understood.

….

Adelle paced irritably inside her room. She was all ready to go. She had her weighty green cloak, and her boots, a bag filled with bread and cheese and apples, her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. All she had to do was walk out the door. Just walk out.

"Come on," she whispered to herself, stepping forward, reaching for the handle, and then pulling back again. What was wrong with her? She could do this!

Of course, she knew _why_ she was having so much trouble. Because she had developed some kind of irrational _affection_ for these six men. They were practically strangers! Why had she helped them in the first place. It had completely fractured the fragile equilibrium of her life.

Growing up in this city, this sinful city of Mercy, she had learned more than a thing or two about how life worked. People were a mixture of good and bad. You can make a living off the bad, and maintain your own sanity by practicing good. No one needs to get too close, no one needs to try and be a hero.

And then these morons had shown up.

Knights in shining armor. Noble, caring, chivalrous, every single bloody thing she had been taught from an early age only existed as recessive traits. But these ones were different. They practically _oozed_ goodness.

Adelle was hooked on it. Sneaking glances at them when she thought they weren't looking, listening in on conversations. They perplexed her.

It was really rather pathetic, actually.

She had become very well practiced at not caring. She was a master of apathy. If you don't care, you don't get hurt, right?

So why was it that she had some kind of silly school girl attachment to a bunch of bumbling, thick headed knights, and one skinny servant, who had decided it was somehow a good idea to go rampaging off into the forest during the middle of a thunderstorm? Didn't they realize she had completely lost any semblance of her carefully manufactured dignity and was worrying over whether they were still alive or not?

Really, when had it become so hard not to care?

It was just so unfair. Now she was practically losing her mind over them.

She felt like screaming with frustration, but settled for pulling at the roots of her hair instead, and just yelping.

Settling down, rubbed her eyes, and sighed.

"Alright, Adelle," she said, only slightly concerned at the fact that she was talking to herself now. These idiot boys really had made a mess of her. "Just go. Go find them, make sure they're okay, have a cup of tea and move on with your life. Yes,"

Huffing in satisfaction, she slung the pack over her shoulder, and headed out the door, running down the stairs, and then exiting the brothel into the busy streets.

Time to find herself some knights.

….

When Arthur woke, he felt ill.

He supposed he hadn't realized how long it was he had gone without eating properly before the sudden hunger struck him. No longer fueled by adrenaline and crushing fear, his physical needs were starting to catch up with him. Blast it.

He groaned, and rolled over on the ground, cold and the night spent on the ground forcing an unhealthy ache into his bones. He shoved an elbow beneath himself, and started to sit up, slowly, so the dizziness didn't send him reeling backward. He dug the heel of his palm into his right eye and yawned, before positioning his legs and standing, wobbling slightly as he did so.

When he opened his eyes, he felt a jolt run through him.

Jacob was slumped in his spot tied to the tree, the ropes digging into his skin from his weight. His eyes were wide open, and vacant. Dead.

Gwaine stood over him, hand on the hilt of his sword, and, for a moment, Arthur feared the worst. But there was no blood visible, and when Gwaine turned towards his king, his words were reassuring, if disturbing,

"He past away in the night. I suppose his poor health finally did him in," Gwaine wrinkled his nose distastefully, and nudged the body with his foot, "Sick bastard, he was"

Arthur nodded,

"That he was," he said, and stepped closer, until he stood beside Gwaine. Both looked down at the man, faces void of emotion, but insides churning. Gwaine sniffed disdainfully, and let his hand slip from the pommel of his sword,

"I'm...just glad he suffered…just a little," he said, voice quiet, but intense, laced with something unnamed, and terrifying. Arthur wanted to rebuke him. Tell him that it was not honorable or right, what they had done.

But he couldn't do it. Because, though he knew it had been wrong, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Simultaneously, their gazes fell upon the raven haired warlock they had worked so hard to protect, had almost lost.

Who was now alive, only by some kind of miracle.

Merlin twitched and moaned in his sleep, a line forming between his brow, as he curled into a tighter ball than the one he was already in. Gwaine walked forward, untied his cloak and gently placed it over the boy. Arthur watched quizzically, wondering how it was that Merlin only looked his true age in his sleep. The manservant sighed and smacked his lips, seeming so small, and Arthur knew once again.

He would never regret.

...

A/N: Alrighty then! :D Please let me know if you liked it, I would love to hear your thoughts. Still a bit more to come. Maybe...two more chapters? I think? Maybe three. Who knows? I briefly considered having Leon be the one who punched Merlin, just to see the looks on your guys' faces! XD (Not really, of course. I don't actually know what your faces look like. I am not a stalker, just a psychic.) Ahem, anyway, hope you enjoyed it! I was a bit disappointed in my own plot wrap up with Jacob, but, I'm satisfied. :) I hope you are too! I am losing my buzz for this story (stupid new plot bunnies!), and I feel like my writing has been deteriorating because of it. I would like to think you guys are still enjoying it, though. So, yeah.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

PS: If you picked up on my Skyrim reference in here, congratulations! :D


	19. Chapter 19

Merlin woke to a tempest.

At least, that was what Adelle came across as. His bleary eyes cracked open to the sight of a loud, roaring, devastating, practical force of nature as she waved her arms around and yelled at the knights who stood, helpless other than to listen to the train of abuses flying from her mouth. None of them were able to get a word in edgewise, the red-faced woman seemingly apathetic to their excuses and explanations.

"Why the hell didn't any of you come to tell me you were alright?!" she screamed, pacing back and forth in front of the motley crew of men. Gwaine had developed a sudden interest in his boots, while the others seemed to be having trouble finding something to stare at. Arthur, of course, looked back at Adelle evenly, appearing to take the rebukes in stride.

Merlin saw the precarious and rather uncomfortable position his friends were in, and briefly wondered if he should, perhaps, intervene. And then Adelle, after catching her breath, continued her tirade.

Merlin let his eyes slip closed, and quickly pretended to be asleep.

They could handle themselves for a little longer without him. No reason in risking a woman's wrath if you don't need to.

….

Arthur watched patiently as Adelle paced back and forth, her arms crossed as she struggled to contain what seemed, to Arthur, to be an irrational amount of irritation. She was ignoring them now, which was rather unfair after she had decided to yell at them animatedly for several minutes. Arthur had feared she would wake Merlin, but his attempts to quiet her had been for naught.

She'd shown up that morning, and woken Arthur by kicking his head. She'd been positively livid for the better part of a half an hour. The other knights had woken up from the yelling and somehow managed to duck their heads and undergo her rage throughout. Finally, she had simmered down, and now seemed to be trying to sort through whatever complicated lady emotions she was suffering at present.

What kept Arthur from speaking up or defending himself was the strange conflict displayed on her lovely face, which was now contorted in confusion and anger and trepidation. This was so different from what Arthur had grown accustomed to I the time he knew her, that he almost felt sorry for her.

Except, for the fact that she had called him a forgetful, lazy lout. That was uncalled for.

Still, any and all impressions she had given him were all ones of self-assuredness and a profound understanding and acceptance of her place in life. Now she looked like she was trying very hard to maintain any semblance of control over herself.

Finally, both hands on her hips, she raised her gaze to the heavens and sighed, her shoulders falling in a sign of complete resignation.

"Alright then," she said, glancing down from the sky to look at each of the knights in turn, before her gaze settled on Arthur, "I suppose I have no choice…I'm coming with you,"

She was barraged with an immediate chorus of negations and excuses, all of which seemed to have no effect on her decided countenance,

"Really, there's no need-"

"Too dangerous for a woman-"

"Not enough horses-"

"Need to move quickly-"

The torrents of disapproval, even Arthur's, were stopped by Adelle's calmly raised hand,

"Listen here," she said, clasping her hands behind her back and splaying her legs shoulder width apart, "That man there," she pointed towards the sleeping form of Merlin, who was entangled obliviously in six red and gold cloaks, "almost died. I don't know who you are, and I don't know where you're going. But what I do know? You lot are obviously incapable buffoons in need of a brain to get you home safely," they tried to protest again, but she spoke over them with a raised finger, "Nah," they halted in their words, "My decision is final. If I don't travel with you, I'll follow along behind, keeping a close eye," she smirked triumphantly.

Arthur crossed his arms stubbornly, and the knights took up similar stances of fortitude. Adelle sighed, seeing their unwavering faces, and lifted her arms slightly, palms facing towards them imploringly,

"Look," she tried again, voice not quite so commanding, but still firm, "Against my better judgment…I've somehow grown _fond_," she wrinkled her nose at the word, "of you all. I don't know what your home is like, or what I'll do once I get there…but," she sighed again, face screwed up in concentration as if talking about her feelings was one of the most distasteful things she could do. Arthur felt a sudden, small amount of warmth towards her. Now _that_ he could relate to, "I'm tired of this crummy old city. And I'm tired of living off its scummy population. I won't do it anymore," She folded her arms across her stomach and her gaze flitted downward, this time in a gesture that seemed more...vulnerable, somehow, "Despite your perpetual ineptitude," a small smile appeared on her face, "you're better men than I've been privileged to associate with in this life. And I don't _want_ this life anymore. Wherever you're from, if you're anything to go by, it's a hell of a lot better than this place. Besides," her gaze flitted over to Merlin once more, a hesitant, tender smile forming on her lips, "I'm not letting him out of my sight again,"

Arthur couldn't hold back a disbelieving chuckle as he began rubbing his eyes. How was it that Merlin somehow always managed to make things more complicated by just being himself? Where did _that_ power come from?

After several moments of contemplation, in which Arthur could feel the stares of everyone situated on him, he came to a decision. Puffing out his cheeks in a prolonged breath, Arthur looked up to see Adelle giving him a rather unnerving, scrutinizing stare,

"Very well," he said, and couldn't help but grin as she smiled brilliantly at him.

"You can ride with Gwaine," Arthur announced. Adelle's face immediately fell, as she glanced over at the knight in question, and her face twisted in disgust as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Arthur chuckled and twirled around, whistling as he began packing up his bedroll. Adelle had made some good points. If she wanted to start a new life in Camelot, who was he to say that she couldn't? Well, other than being the king, of course. But any new citizen with a willing heart was something he was completely fine with.

That didn't mean he couldn't extract a bit of petty revenge. Nobody calls him a lout.

…

Merlin was singing.

"_Ooooooooooooooohhhhhhhh! I wandered into a tavern that day! My clothes and hair in disarray-_"

He was singing loud and long and proud. It was the voice of a man who was simply celebrating the fact that he had the breath in his body to do so, the air in his lungs to live. He didn't care who heard him. He hollered into the day and fresh air. And Arthur damned anyone who would try to ruin that for him.

"-_but none could ever shy away, for my love is Bonnie Green! Ooooooooohhhhhhh_-!"

They were now several hours away from Mercy, and were traveling on horseback through the woods. Warm light filtered in through the treetops, slowly drying their still damp clothes. Arthur was filthy and hurting, bruised and stinking, but he was in a vastly better mood than he had been for the past several weeks. Merlin was alive, they were all alive, healthy and heading home. And Merlin was happy. Happier than Arthur had seen him in a long, long time.

Arthur couldn't wait to get home. He couldn't wait to see Gwen. He knew that she was keeping things afloat back there all by herself. Hopefully, she was still awaiting their return.

Arthur was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of another voice joining Merlin's. He turned around in his saddle to see Adelle, who sat in front of Gwaine on their horse, with a deeply amused, highly contented smile on her face, singing along with Merlin.

"_Yes, her eyes were of the deepest blue, but her skin was akin to a vegetable's hue!_"

And then Gwaine joined in. And then Elyan, and Arthur, and eventually Percival and Leon. And there they were, singing loudly and badly, but not caring, trotting through the sunshine with their heads held high.

"_My Bonnie Green love did steal my heart, the thieving young lass did tear apart, myyy hooooooooooooommmmeeeee!_"

Arthur didn't know for how long they sang together, the air filled with their ecstasy, relief and camaraderie. But they only stopped when there was a slapping sound, followed by a loud yelp of pain from behind, Gwaine's. And Adelle's shriek

"Keep your meaty paws to yourself, you beslubbering imbecile!" (1)

…

That night, they ate stew made from rabbit and vegetables and seasonings freshly gathered from Mercy that morning. They entertained each other with stories and songs, and Merlin used his magic to morph the sparks from the fire into shapes to go along with each one.

It felt almost dreamlike, to Merlin. The sudden safety and complete lack of pain.

He was honestly homesick, though. He wanted to see Gaius and Gwen. He was also feeling restless. He was not a naturally inactive person. And after so many years risking his life for one kingdom…being away from it for so long just made him…fidgety.

….

The next several days passed smoothly. With Merlin now functioning completely normally, they didn't have to stop as often to rest, or deal with any attacks. A trip that had taken them two weeks the first time around, they had managed to cut a third off of.

After just a little over a week, they were not a few minutes away from being able to see their beloved kingdom.

In the time they had spent together, they had spent time bonding and talking, hunting and telling stories and jokes. Mostly, they made good time on their horses, only stopping late at night to sleep, and rising early even then.

Merlin had spent much of his time answering Adelle's numerous questions. Yes, Arthur was a noble. Yes, he was also a warrior. Yes, that _was_ possible. No, Camelot wasn't small. No, Merlin wasn't involved with anyone, despite what Gwaine said.

"It's beautiful," Merlin said, riding alongside Adelle and Gwaine, "White and brilliant in the sun, red and gold flags. The people are so brave,"

"Geez, Merlin," Gwaine laughed, "I might have thought you were king instead of Arthu-"

Realizing his mistake, Gwaine's mouth shut with an audible "click". Adelle furrowed her brow in suspicion,

"What?" she said. Then, slowly turned to the very irritated looking Arthur, "Wait…he's…? But…" she whirled about on the saddle, looking at each of the knights in search of an answer. Merlin chuckled as she realized exactly who she had been insulting and teasing and bantering with for the past week and a half or so.

Arthur nodded in confirmation at the obvious question in her eyes.

She swallowed and settled back against Gwaine,

"Oh,"

…..

Gwen couldn't take it anymore.

Over a month of waiting. Of agonizing and torture, tedious council meetings and adlibbed excuses. She was ready to burst from the absolute torment she was going through. Her husband, her best friend, her brother, the rest of the knights, she hadn't seen any of them for far, far too long.

She was almost practically running through the corridors to reach her chambers. That was it. She didn't care anymore. She was going out to look for them.

Irrational with worry and frenzied in her eagerness, she rushed to pack.

Brushing past the guards outside her door, she flew into her room and ran to the wardrobe. She pulled out some of the old dresses she kept from her maidservant days, and then rushed to grab the pair of boots out from under her bed. Just as she was heading to grab a sack, a knock sounded at the door.

The sound was like a bothersome fly, and Gwen waved her hand and called absently,

"Come in!"

She didn't notice who entered the room, until the voice sounded, saying words that seemed to break through the hazy spell of grief and concern she had been trapped in for the past several weeks,

"Milady," a guard said, "the king has returned,"

…

The people of Camelot watched with bright smiles and enthusiastic cheers as their king and all of his knights, and also his manservant and one woman, came trotting into the courtyard. They had only just dismounted, greeting the guards and knights that came to slap them on the backs and ask questions, before a cry of sheer delight and relief resounded from the door of the castle.

"Arthur!"

The queen came sprinting down the steps of the castle, dress and hair flying behind her as visible tears streamed down her face. After an endless moment of exultation, she flew into the waiting arms of her husband, head buried in his shoulder, and his face in her hair. They held each other tightly, Guinevere weeping into his jerkin, arms wrapped around his neck, and his about her waist. She then pulled back, and planted a fierce kiss upon his lips, and the people applauded and cheered louder.

Gwen then went to each person in turn. She hugged Merlin so tightly it seemed she was afraid he would disappear. She kissed his cheeks several times, and cried when he told her he was completely cured. She embraced Elyan and laughed when Gwaine kissed her cheek. She must have hugged each of them a dozen times, before ending up with Arthur's arm about her shoulder as he announced to the courtyard that there would be a feast that night for the entire kingdom, celebrating their return to the kingdom. This was met by an enthusiastic chorus of approval from the people.

Arthur then introduced Gwen to Adelle, and the queen was all too happy to embrace her as well, and thank her for the assistance she had offered her family. Adelle blushed and looked a little taken aback and uncomfortable, but she seemed to take an immediate liking to the servant turned monarch.

And then, as a laughing, smiling, teary eyed group, they entered the castle, stronger, than when they had left.

….

As soon as Merlin entered the familiar surroundings of the castle, he had to quickly excuse himself. He departed from the group, and walked slowly towards the waiting form in the shadows, standing with his hands folded in front of him, a small smile on his weathered face.

"Gaius," Merlin choked out through the lump in his throat, a smile filling up his face against his will. Though, he wouldn't have wanted to fight the absolute elation taking over him.

He drank in Gaius' features. Those wise eyes, that wonderful, wonderful eyebrow.

"My boy," Gaius whispered, his own voice watery, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

Without a word, they both stepped forward into a prolonged, reassuring embrace. Merlin didn't realize how much he had missed his mentor. He dug his fingers into Gaius' worn, brown robe, letting the scent of potions and book pages fill his nostrils.

"You're back," Gaius said, his voice betraying his heavy emotions. Merlin smiled again, reveling in the feeling of his own steady heartbeat, the warm air around him, the sounds of fading laughter from his friends, his family. This was home.

"I'm back,"

The End

**This story is dedicated to Permanentscars. Without her support and counsel throughout the story, it would not be the same.**

**If you're in the mood for some fluff after this angsty ride, check out her Arthur's Pride series for some quality work. :D**

**Thank you all so much for your support and reviews throughout this story! You guys have been absolutely amazing with your kind words and wondrous encouragement. Writing this story has really gotten me out of the creative funk I was in, and has really made this year all that much better. I owe you all my deepest gratitude. :)**

**(1) Beslubbering is a word...**

**One last thing, if you haven't taken the time to review before, I would really appreciate your feedback on the whole of this story. Was it good, bad? What could I improve upon in my writing? **

**I can't wait to start on these other plots dancing around in my head. Thank you all for joining me for this adventure.**

**Happy New Year!**


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